


Check Mate

by Kispexi2



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen, attempted hanging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-31
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 81,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kispexi2/pseuds/Kispexi2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was written before the release of <i>Serenity</i> so, although it is set in the canon 'verse, it diverges from it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. White Pawn Takes Black Queen

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written before the release of _Serenity_ so, although it is set in the canon 'verse, it diverges from it.

"Tamade!"

Matron Lenna Jeffries almost never swore these days. The Corporation frowned on senior staff using coarse language. So she had worked hard to keep the colourful phrases from the past from escaping her lips and had been rewarded by a steady rise up the corporate ladder. But sometimes the only appropriate response was a curse.

And the go se was certainly piling up this evening. Two ward security men were dead in the corridor and here was her best nurse, unconscious and bleeding from the temple under the girl's bed. But it was worse than that. The girl was gone. And not just any girl. The girl. The one that was only half-finished.

* * * * *

The torrential, incessant rain had seeped through his clenched fingers, turning the scrap of paper they held into mush. Just as well really, since the men who'd given it to him had ordered him to memorize the information it carried and then destroy it. As if his life depended on it. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was as if this little piece of paper was a talisman, a guarantee that this time he really would succeed in rescuing her. Proof that it wasn't just him against the monolithic power of the Alliance. That there were still good people out there.

Shielding his eyes against the beating raindrops, Dr Simon Tam – until this afternoon a senior trauma surgeon at the best hospital on Osiris – scanned the street in vain for any sign of his new 'friends'. His face was pale and thin, his eyes by turns wary and haunted. He'd certainly chosen a good day for it, he thought bitterly as the cold droplets trickled down the back of his shirt. The meteorology contractors would probably never work again after today's downpour. People on Core planets demanded predictability from all their services, including the weather.

Suddenly he thought he glimpsed them, emerging from a bar at the top end of the street. There was something about the way the tall, ginger one with the scraggly beard walked that made him easy to identify. A shaft of light from a shop window illuminated their faces for an instant and Simon was sure. It was them, thank God! And the frail, female figure between them had to be River. Her head was bent as she delicately picked her way between puddles and she was wearing a headscarf, so he couldn't see her face. But it was them all right.

Simon suppressed the urge to run to her, clasp her against his breast and weep with relief. He knew he had to stay cool. Drawing attention could prove fatal. So he concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply as his stomach contracted painfully with anticipation.

The two men kept walking, right past him as though he wasn't there. As agreed in the plan. He fell in behind them, stopping sometimes to feign interest in the goods in a shop front, but always keeping them in his sights. A short-range private hovercraft drew up and the ginger one helped River get in. Simon quickened his pace and caught up with them, swiftly taking a seat alongside her, and then the vehicle moved off. Away from the city. Heading towards freedom. And God only knew what else.

Every muscle in River's body was tense. When the vehicle cornered and she fell against him, it felt like she was something made of glass and metal, not his own flesh and blood. He stole a sideways glance at her, absurdly shy of making eye contact. She was staring straight ahead, brows knitted and lips pursed in concentration. The expression was so typically River, Simon's awkwardness melted. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it gently.

"Oh God, River, it's so good to see you again. To know you're all right."

She turned to look at him but there was no recognition in her eyes. "Silly. I'm half left. Except the points have been switched and the train's going round in circles."

The ginger one looked shifty and his greasy little companion shook his head mournfully. "They're all like this when we get 'em out, Doc. Probably jus' the dopin'."

Cheng Ford stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Maybe, Davie. But I'd heard some of 'em never recover..." He broke off quickly at Simon's startled reaction. "Sure that won't be the case with your sis though, Doc. She's got you an' you're a qualified physician. An' I already know how devoted to her you are."

"Can't put Pandora in the box with no hope," River interjected as though stating the obvious. "Can't fight all the evil in the 'verse with only a needle."

"Problem is," Davie Na said with a meaningful nod in River's direction, "In that state, she's gonna draw attention to herself. An' to you. Last thing you need, eh Doc? Now we can get you to Persephone without too much trouble, even if she goes screamin' crazy like the others. But Persephone's got more'n its fair share of Feds. You're gonna have to be more discreet there."

And right on cue, River pulled off her scarf and coat and started ripping at her skirt. "She was a girl. Once," she told Simon and then she was crying, wailing, twisting her hair around her fists. "Now she's a gorram Russian doll. A girl within a girl within a girl. Mystery, conundrum, enigma. They've planted a seed and it's growing. A ticking seed. Tick! Tick!" Her voice has risen to a scream and Simon instinctively pulled her into his arms in an attempt to calm her.

"Yeah, like I was sayin' - discreet. So it's mighty handy, you being a medic. There's that drug ... what they call it? ... puts you into a deep sleep for as long as you like. You give her some of that, an' you can stow her like luggage' til you reach some place safe."

Funny how they hadn't mentioned this part of the plan before now. Given that they'd seen other girls in this distressed and intensely distressing state. However, despite his unease, Simon could see the reason in it. Their pursuers would be looking for a brother and sister, not a man travelling alone.

"Byphodine," he told them. "The drug's called byphodine. And actually it's only safe for a fortnight, three weeks tops. I'd need a cryochamber too. Changes in heat and atmospheric pressure can cause premature awakening and that can lead to all sorts of complications."

"Got one all ready for you Doc."

* * * * *

Rantoong rested his chin on steepled fingers, a self satisfied smile lifting his sagging features. Across the desk, Parkin smiled back, although on his cadaverous face the effect was more chilling.

"Two men dead, you say? Well, that's a small price to pay in the circumstances. And it does add a certain ... authenticity ... doesn't it? Where are they now?"

"On a refitted military shuttle on their way to Persephone. Should land in about six days," Parkin told him.

Rantoong nodded, a warm sense of content flowing through him.

"Perfect. The whore has an appointment on the fifteenth. Oh – I forgot to tell you. We decided the corporal should have a reward for the information he passed on. Might even get us some more. There's a delightful economy of effort there, don't you think? Reynolds will probably set down in the Eavesdown docks. Only problem now is making sure the boy makes the right choice."

Parkin snorted. "If he hadn't been so focused on his med studies, he might have taken an interest in politics. That would've made it simple. The name alone would have been enough to reassure him. But... well, you know how hard it is for an outsider to break into the medical profession. Couldn't afford the luxury of a fully rounded education. Not to worry. Ford is under instruction to tell him to seek out the most disreputable-looking ship in dock. Which is bound to be 'Serenity' – unless there's a Reaver ship needing refuelling."

Both men allowed themselves a chuckle at the little joke, then Rantoong began flicking through the papers on his clipboard.

"Boy was in the top three percent of his year. Can you believe that? Doesn't seem very bright to me."

"No," Parkin agreed. "But people see what they want to see. Thankfully."

Rantoong flipped over another page.

"Reynolds. No reports on his schooling. Probably never went. Not on a backwater like Shadow. But the man does have a certain animal cunning and an instinct for survival. If he discovers our little jill-in-the-box, it could ruin everything. How are we going to prevent him from tossing them both out of the airlock?"

It was Parkin's turn to look pleased with himself.

"Ah. I've been doing some research into how to get him to see what we want him to see. Seems the gallant Captain has a serious character weakness. Never could resist a damsel in distress. All we need do is make him think the girl's life is in peril and he'll go into full hero mode. Tragic, really."

"And how are we going to make him think that?"

"By making him think the Alliance will stop at nothing to get her back. For mysterious but doubtless nefarious purposes."

"A bulletin on the Cortex?"

"That as well. But I was thinking more along the lines of an undercover Federal Agent posing as a passenger. If the girl remains hidden, he can just enjoy the trip. But if Reynolds finds out... then our man starts threatening everyone on board and tries to arrest the Tams. For the authenticity. Reynolds will kill him, of course. And having protected the girl once, he'll do it again. Whenever we need him to."

Rantoong nodded appreciatively. Parkin could be outstandingly creative in situations like this.

"Did you have a particular Federal Agent in mind?"

"Lawrence Dobson. Top of my expendable list."  



	2. Bishop Takes Castle

Book didn't know how to reply. The abbott's words had both flattered and terrified him.

"I.. I'm not sure I'm ready for such a delicate mission, Father Abbott," he said. "There must be others more reliable than I. I still have so much to learn..."

"Are you questioning my judgement?" the abbott asked, with a twinkle. "Don't I recall you making a vow of obedience?"

Book nodded and lowered his eyes. "I am your servant and the Lord's."

The abbott smiled kindly.

"Good. This mission is indeed delicate, but you have all the necessary skills. I know the past weighs heavily on you, but this may provide you with the means of transforming it into something pleasing to God. All those attributes you so despise just now may prove vital. 'Who sweeps a room as by His laws, makes that and the action fine.' God will guide you. Simply have faith."

Book nodded again and looked up. The crows' feet around the abbott's shrewd little eyes deepened as he beamed at his latest recruit. "I have every confidence in you, Book. Would you like to hear the details now?"

* * * * *

He closed the trunk with a sigh and a growing feeling of trepidation. Since coming to the Abbey he'd discovered the kind of peace he'd only ever dreamt of. A warm blanket of acceptance and love that blotted out all his fear and guilt and self-disgust. He had hoped to spend the rest of his days here, to die at prayer perhaps and be buried in the garden under the shelter of the blossoming cherry tree.

But it was not to be. It seemed his redemption must be earned. Once again he must walk the world. And try not to stray from the straight and narrow path that leads to Paradise. The abbott had entrusted him with this task and he would do his best not to fail the old man. If only he weren't so damnably weak!

* * * * *

After the quiet shade of the Abbey, the noise, colour and heat of the Eavesdown docks were an assault on his senses. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen so many people. No, he corrected himself, he could remember, he didn't just want to. His luggage was heavy and unwieldy and finding his way around was harder than he'd anticipated.

"Look for a Firefly," the abbott had told him, handing over a little wooden box. "One of the later models. An aught three, whatever that means. That's where she'll be. Should be heading for Boros." He had paused, considering. "We don't have much coin for your fare, I'm afraid. But fresh produce is always at a premium on space ships. Offer it in part payment if their asking price is too high. Our home-grown strawberries are so good this year, they could probably be traded for a berth on a luxury cruiser."

Book checked the pile of cases for the wooden box. It was still there, the secret temptation safe within. He wasn't surprised to find his mouth watering at the thought. He'd always been a comfort eater, even as a boy. For him fear, embarrassment and desire had always expressed themselves as physical hunger.

"You going on a trip, grandpa? Need safe passage? We're cheap. We're cheap. We're clean."

Everything about the young man trying to hustle him onto his ship was annoying. His tone, his manner, his face. If he hadn't already spent time in lock-down, he certainly would before long. Book sighed as the ruthlessly judgemental side of his character surfaced automatically. This didn't augur well for his mission. He bit back the sarcastic tirade that sprang unbidden to his tongue and contented himself with a simple, "I never married." He tried hard to be surprised at the hustler's witless "What?" but failed. The boy was clearly as stupid as he looked. "I'm not a grandpa," he told him mildly but revelling in his intellectual superiority.

Gorramit! Vanity, anger and vengeance had put in an appearance already. Also mild cursing. Oh yes, this was going to go well ...

* * * * *

"You're gonna come with us."

With a start, Book realized the comment was addressed at him. He looked over his shoulder to see a young, dark-haired girl with the sunniest smile he had ever seen. Late teens, early twenties perhaps. The right sort of age.

"Pardon me?"

"You like ships. You don't seem to be looking at the destinations. What you care about is the ships, and mine's the nicest."

It was true enough. He did like ships. Or, at least, he used to. He gave the ship behind her a quick glance and felt his heart pound. A Firefly. Which meant this might indeed be the young woman he was looking for.

"She don't look much," he remarked, playing it cool.

The girl bristled a little at the criticism but managed to keep smiling and twirling her ridiculous parasol.

"Well, she'll fool ya'. You ever sail in a Firefly?" Book looked at the ship again. It was certainly the right vintage.

"Long before you were crawling." he told her calmly, trying to keep his interest from being too apparent. "Not an aught three, though. Didn't have the extenders, tended to shake."

Shake? That was an understatement! But then, at full burn under photon bombardment, most ships did.

The girl stood up and engaged him in conversation. It was obvious she was trying to sell her ship to him, but there was nothing false about her enthusiasm for it. She spoke with an almost maternal pride that was utterly charming. They introduced themselves to each other and he told her just enough about where he was from and where he was going.

"This is Serenity, and she's the smoothest ride from here to Boros for anyone who can pay. Can you pay, or... ?"  
He loved the way she made it sound as though she really wanted him to choose this patched-up near-obsolete vessel. Not just because she loved it herself, but because she wanted him to as well.

"Well, I've got a little cash, and, uh... "

He handed her the wooden box and watched her eyes as she lifted the lid, deriving a somewhat voyeuristic thrill from the way she gazed at the contents with undisguised sensual longing. A lovely girl. He didn't even mind it when she breathed, "Ooh, grandpa!"

* * * * *

Book retired to his room in the passenger dorm and knelt beside the bed. He tried to focus on his mission, on God's greatness and on the information he'd managed to glean so far.

He had to locate the young woman and keep her under surveillance.

God was our help in ages past and our hope for years to come.

The Captain was a heathen. The 'public relations officer' a Neanderthal. The pilot was eccentric to say the least and his wife more than a little intimidating. And there was a whore on board. In some ways, it was just like the old days.

The other passengers were a wet-behind-the-ears doctor and a nondescript bumbler.

He considered the contenders. The mechanic seemed too cheery, although looks could be deceptive. The Amazonian was too obvious. That left the Companion.

He'd have to keep a close eye on her. The idea made him smile ruefully. He could already hear the lewd jokes the mercenary would be making.  



	3. Defending The Black Rook

_2518 Late December._

"Need to jump. Now!"

Her husband's urgent voice roused Zoe from sleep. She smiled with deep satisfaction as she processed his words. "Again, honey? Ain't you tired yet?" She rolled over luxuriously and scooped him towards her with a long, muscular arm. Well, she was awake now and it would be a shame not to make the most of his enthusiasm.

He struggled a bit against her tightening embrace but the low moan that issued from his lips reassured her he hadn't changed his mind. She was leaning over him, nibbling and licking her way down his throat and onto his chest, when he suddenly yelled, "Gonna get humped hard!" and flung her backwards across the bed.

In a flash she was back on top of him, straddling him and pinning him down by the wrists. "You been takin' lessons in seduction from Jayne?" she asked coolly but determined to nip this little game in the bud. Zoe was no prude but she wasn't going to start role-playing the submissive for anyone. It just wasn't in her nature.

"Huh?" Wash mumbled. A light came on in his eyes and they widened with alarm as he registered his wife looming over him, looking less than amorous. It didn't help to realize that she had in some sort of unbreakable hold. "Is there a problem, lambie-toes?"

She realized he'd only been dreaming and released her grip a little, only to tighten it harder still when she began picturing the kind of dream he'd likely been having.

"Ow!" Wash was bleary with sleep and was having difficulty in making sense of his wife's mood.

"Bad dream, sweet cakes?" she asked in a tone that was far from soothing.

He thought back. "Yeah, I think it was. I was flying..."

"How Freudian."

"I was flying in the war. Me! In the war! Can you imagine that? They were shooting at us. There was a little guy. We had to jump." She raised an eyebrow. "With parachutes."

"Oh." With that Zoe released his hands and rolled off him. He thought she looked a little embarrassed, but decided not to push his luck. As she cocooned herself inside the quilt and turned onto her side, Wash risked snaking an arm around her waist and kissed her hair. "Sleep well, my autumn flower."

* * * * *

_2510 – Early March._

"Purple Angel Five. Purple Angel Five. This is Purple Heaven. Do you read me?"

"Purple Heaven, this is Purple Angel Five. Reading you loud and clear. What's up, you old....?" The pilot broke off abruptly as the very air he was flying through trembled with the violence of the explosion unleashed beneath them. "__! What in the __ was that?"

"Browncoat scum managed to snatch a cargo of full yield mag drops. Latest issue, upgraded to carry a heavier payload."

"Glad you waited until now to tell me that, Purple Heaven. cuz surprises are always fun. Go se, there goes another."

"Well, that's the beauty of fighting for the Independents. Low-life don't have to pay for decent ordnance. They just steal ours. Get the hell out of there Purple Angel Five. There's a whole swarm of the flyin' piss-ants on your tail. Forget the target. Don't want to lose another kite. Over."

"Sorry Purple Heaven, you're breaking up. Can't hear you." The pilot flicked off the radio with a conspiratorial grin at his bombardier. "Can't go running home yet. Not when the big boys have come out to play. Hang on tight, bombardier. It's gonna be a bumpy ride!"

Bombardier Davie Tanaka had heard rumours the pilot he'd just been assigned to loved nothing better than a dogfight but his continued breathing seemed proof positive they were untrue. Now he gave the pilot an anxious look. The man was wearing a gleeful expression without the slightest trace of fear. His pale brows and lashes gave his eyes a wild, dangerous aspect peculiarly at odds with his casual dress of sandals, shorts and a bright orange floral shirt. He was almost lounging in his seat, completely at ease with himself and his mission. He looked up and caught Tanaka's eye.

"Don't worry, son. You and me are gonna be big damn heroes. And d'you know what that means? Women. Loads of 'em. Mine are gonna have lots of black hair, long legs and doe eyes. Think about what yours are gonna look like as you get ready to fire." He pushed the joystick forwards and the plane went into a rapid descent. "Target acquired. Fire!"

Tanaka pressed the bomb release button by reflex and began counting the seconds until he heard the explosion.

Meanwhile Collins was laughing like a maniac. "Yet another scalp, my friend!"

"They're still behind us, sir, and closing," Tanaka told him, fighting back the rising panic. He had hoped the enemy would have had more sense than to follow them into that last dive. "What if they try seekers?"

Collins laughed again. The younger man's limited battle experience made him quite entertaining company. "They wouldn't use seekers in the air. That would be plain crazy. And plane crazy. Seekers home in on heat, and their birds are just as hot as this one ..."

But the smile seemed to trickle off Collins' face and he nodded slowly without raising his eyes from the radar screen. "Could be you're right, Tanaka. We got incoming. Time for a bit of fresh air flying! Open the hatch. Need to jump. Now! Or we're gonna get humped hard."

* * * * *

_2511 – early November._

"Do you remember anything?"

The man who used to be Tao Collins opened his eyes and found himself looking up into the pale face of a beautiful young woman.

"No," he mumbled, his head fuzzy and his mouth dry. Where in the nine hells was he? Had he brought this girl home last night? Who in the 'verse was she?

"Nothing?" she asked in a disappointed tone. "Really?"

An older man appeared beside her and without warning pulled up Collins' eyelids with a blue-gloved hand and shone a pencil torch into his eyes.

"Give him time to regain consciousness properly, Amina. The coma, the procedure. It takes time. There, there, son. Take it easy."

Amina smiled down at the man who used to be Collins. "Are you feeling okay? Would you like some mouthwash?"

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. He seemed to be in a hospital. A private room in a high tech hospital. As well as the girl and the older man, there was a youth. Small build. Dark greasy hair. Familiar somehow.

"Takano!" he said, suddenly certain he knew him.

The others exchanged serious glances and the older man muttered "Tamade" under his breath.

"No, not Takano," the girl said gently. "Tanaka. D'you remember his first name at all?"

No, he didn't. Then he realized with shock that he didn't even know his own name.

"What the hell's going on here? Who are you people? And more importantly, who am I?"

Surprisingly his outburst made everyone smile with ... relief. All of a sudden they were palpably more relaxed. The older man clapped his hands together.

"It's worked. Maybe... Now concentrate, son. What do you remember? Anything?"

The man who would soon learn to think of himself as Hoban Washburne closed his eyes and chased the nebulous forms floating around his brain.

"Baby geese. Goslings. A juggler." He opened his eyes again with a start. "And dinosaurs. Am I insane by any chance? A danger to myself and others?"

"No, not at all. Now tell me, what's your favourite food?"

"What use is this? Okay, okay. I like _bao_. My mother used to make it every Sunday. It was the best..."

"Yes, yes. Good. And your least favourite?"

"Fast food. But only because I was sacked from a fry-cook opportunity once. Can't remember why."

"It doesn't matter. Or rather, it does. It means it's worked. Now, tell me, what is it you find most attractive in a woman?"

"The legs. Definitely the legs."

The one called Tanaka groaned and shook his head. "That's bad. I mean, that's right. Aircrew were always joking about it. He even said as much just before..."

The girl interrupted.

"It's all right. Some parts of the psyche are too deeply entrenched to be much affected by the reprogramming. You can't hope to eliminate the true persona, just modify it. Make it manageable." She gave him a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, you're amongst friends," her colleague cut her off to address Collins/Washburne. "You're a hero. Which makes you a target for any Browncoat _hundan_ looking to make a name for himself.. Which means we need to keep you off the radar. So they don't kill you. Or worse."

The man who was now Washburne looked bewildered. He shook his head violently.

"No. I may be crazy but I'm not stupid. Alliance, Independents. Who cares? I'm not interested in politics. I'm a commercial pilot.. Long haul between quadrants mainly."

He tried to remember his last job, but the memory was shallow and grey. No colour or texture to it. He felt defeated, lost.

Amina noticed his shoulders begin to sag and placed a gentle hand on them.

"Try not to worry. You've been through a lot. Experienced a lot of trauma. We've given you something to help."

"Like what?" he asked, feeling cornered and helpless, not sure whether to trust these people or not.

Amina and the older man exchanged a look. He shrugged. "Tell him. He'll forget soon enough."

"We've suppressed the trauma with a chemical implant and given you a whole new identity to stop it resurfacing. I know. It sounds like science fiction! But you're a hero. You've earned this chance at a normal life. No-one wants you to go through.... Anyway, once the memories start to bed down, you'll feel a lot better. We programmed in a lot of optimism. It should kick in within a day or two."

Washburne suddenly felt very tired. He wanted to crawl away and hide somewhere. "Then what?" he pleaded.

"Then we'll get you fit again. Teach you the practical stuff. There's no need for concern. We're on your side."

Tanaka approached the bed. "You're a gorram hero, sir. And you saved my life. I'll be with you every step of the way."

Xingu Harris and Amina Meg withdrew from the room. When they were certain Tanaka was engaging Washburne in conversation they began to speak in hushed whispers.

"It does look as though we were successful," Harris said. "He seems totally stable. Not like the others. We could get a commendation for this. Maybe promotion."

"I'd feel more confident if I were certain all the reversal serum had been destroyed."

"The lab took a direct hit," Harris told her. "The whole lot was vaporized."

Amina frowned. "Or so they say."

* * * * *

_2512 - November_

Davie trudged down the corridor, his mind racing. He really wanted Collins – no, sorry, it was Washburne now – to take this job. For two reasons. Firstly, he couldn't live without coin for ever and the Alliance couldn't fund his return to civilian life. It would look too suspicious. Secondly, his father had told him 'Serenity' was owned by a Browncoat. The man had somehow survived the Battle of Serenity Valley, which would make him a great prize when the time came... Davie envisioned himself in a victory parade, dragging Reynolds in chains down the main street of Capital City on Londinium.

"Gr! Arch. Damn your plastic heart. Die you __, die!" Seeing Davie enter the mess, Wash finished the battle raging between his toy dinosaurs with a flourish and blood curdling death cry.

Davie took a seat opposite him and the dining table, looking around to see what the other pilots thought of his friend's eccentric behaviour. None of them were paying him any attention and Davie surmised they had either become totally used to it or were doing their best not to encourage him.

"Come to celebrate my spectacular success in the final exam?" Wash asked, raising a glass of cider. "A toast, to me. Only the top scoring candidate of the year!"

Davie smiled with genuine delight. "That's great! So, you're all up to date with your qualifications now? That's good, because I've found you a job. Or at least, my dad has."

"Oh, thank you." Wash sounded less than delighted. After all the hard work of studying he had been planning to kick up his heels a while and make the most of the effect telling a woman you were a pilot had on her morals.

"You've got an interview tomorrow. Ship's in the Moonward docks. Serenity. Captain's called Malcolm Reynolds. It's only a bit of a flea-bag operation at the moment, but Dad likes the fella. And at least it's a start."

No need to tell Washburne the plan. Not just yet.  



	4. Red Queen In Play

2512 – January

As she brushed the last of her tears away, Inara Serra knew with absolute certainty that she would never cry for love of a man again. She would never again let a man into her heart. Better not to feel that exquisite fluttering. Better not to give in to the desire to touch, hold and have him. Better not to weave dreams around him. The House Priestess had been right all along. The life of a Companion was simpler if love were kept well out of it. She should have heeded the lessons on distancing. Now she promised herself she would revise them and practice them repeatedly until they became second nature.

The fire had died down almost completely now, leaving a pale pile of grey ashes. Not much to show for a love affair of such intensity. Letters, photographs and indeed everything he had touched. All gone now. Not merely because the ritual gave their relationship closure, but also to protect her against further investigation.

And besides, she had memorized the name and cortex address she needed.

The first light of dawn was showing blood red against the horizon. It would soon be over. By the time the sun was up, he would be dead. And she had no tears left with which to mourn his passing.

Pianhu, who had been watching from the cloisters, approached and lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. Inara turned her head to look at her and for a moment Pianhu could see the full extent of her friend's agony.

"Come,"she said softly, "The House Priestess sent me to find you."

Inara rose from her knees and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for an instant. When she opened them again, her face was calm and composed. She gave Pianhu a small smile and followed her across the gravel courtyard and in through the ornately carved wooden entrance to the House Madrassa.

* * * * *

It was certainly an unusual request, but not one without merit. For both parties concerned. The House Priestess felt a new respect for her protegee as she looked at Inara Serra, standing patiently before her, any anxiety hidden behind a perfect smile. The House Priestess hesitated for a moment. It would be a terrible pity to lose a Companion of Inara's calibre, even for a short while. She was House Madrassa's most popular by far. At the same time, it would be most unfortunate if the House itself were to be tainted by its association with her. Nothing had been proved of course, and probably never would be but, for the present, a certain distance might be desirable.

The House Priestess sighed, allowing Inara the slightest glimpse of her irritation. She had been profoundly disappointed by Inara's lack of restraint. Her lack of realism. Falling in love with a client was something one might have expected from the willful Nandi Shang, but never from Inara. All that talent and ambition frittered away on a man. On that man.

On the surface, Inara remained serene, but she was itching for an answer. Having committed herself to the sacrament of revenge, she was impatient to put her plan into action. She forced her mind to go blank and concentrated on simply breathing.

Finally the House Priestess spoke. "We are most reluctant to allow you to leave us forever, Inara, so let us agree upon a ... sabbatical. You may take the grand tour of the central planets. A wider appreciation of different culture can only enhance your val... reputation. You may act as an autonomous Companion for a period of five years, after which time you will return to us here and we will review the situation."

Inara lowered her eyes and dipped into a small curtsey. "Thank you"

"However," the Priestess continued, "you will present yourself for annual medical check-ups at a certified hospital throughout your absence, or your registration with the Guild will lapse. Dong ma?"

"Of course"

The House Priestess dismissed her with a nod but just as Inara reached the door spoke again. "I think it best if you leave immediately. And if you clear your room of all...your personal effects."

* * * * *

When she recalled the humiliation her interrogation, Inara's fleshed still crawled. She'd been marched off unceremoniously for questioning by five Federal agents who'd paid no heed to her position as a Registered Companion. She was all but thrown into the cell and it was clear that the coarse-featured, sweaty warden glaring at her had no more regard her than he'd have had for a common whore.

She drew herself up to her full height and held her chin high. "What is the meaning of this?"she asked, hiding her anxiety behind a haughty tone.

He sneered – that vile little man actually had the temerity to sneer - at her. "The meaning, missy, is that you're in big trouble. Been sleepin' with the enemy and now you've been caught with your knickers down."

She gasped, rapidly realizing that whatever she thought being a Companion meant held no sway here. These people had no respect for her whatsoever. Was that new? Or had it always been the case?

"Red Doran has been bound by law and charged with espionage, conspiracy and treason. The case against him is pretty clear. All we have to do now is find out if you're a filthy Browncoat sympathizer as well." He walked slowly over to her, his eyes slithering up and down her body like pestilent cockroaches as he approached. He stretched out a hand and cupped it under her chin. The corners of his mouth twitched, pulling the fleshy lips back into a lascivious grin. "We can make this as easy or as hard as you like." As he uttered the word hard he thrust his groin towards her, leaving no room for doubt as to his meaning.

She had nothing to tell them other than she had had no idea that her lover had been a Browncoat spy. There was nothing on her record to refute her claim that she had supported Unification. And eventually they had to let her go.

* * * * *

_2516 -August_

Monty Gordon looked more like a bear than a man, Inara thought as she was shown into his tent. A big, greasy bear. He looked up from the papers spread over the desk before him and scrutinized her with knowing but kindly eyes.

She extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Gordon. I'm Inara Serra."

He grunted and took her hand, swallowing it up in his great paw. "Know who you are, girl. An' it's not Lieutenant anymore. Them days is long over. You jus' call me Monty an' we'll get along fine." He gestured for her to take a seat. "Now why don't you tell me what it is you're wantin' with an ol' fella like me?"

"I want to help. The cause."

Monty started and looked around nervously for prying eyes and ears. The habit was deeply ingrained. Had to play it close to the chest after the defeat. Had to use the smarts. An' all the while pretend like you di'n't have none. "The cause?" he asked, with an innocent raise of the eyebrows.

Inara leant towards him and lowered her voice. "The cause. I'm not asking you to trust me. At least, not yet. I'm offering to help. I could be useful to you. In lots of ways."

Monty gave her a testing leer. "I'm all aware of that... Ain't seen a woman in months. Leastways, not one as fine-lookin' as you."

Inara smiled her professional smile. "If you'd like me to service you, I'm sure we could negotiate a mutually satisfactory deal. But that wasn't what I meant." She too looked around, then dropped her voice again. "Lieuten... Monty. I am a Registered Companion. I have something of a reputation. I have access to people and places others under your command would be shot for approaching. Powerful people. Alliance people..." She paused, letting her words sink in. "Please. Let me be useful. For Doran's sake."

Monty tried not to show any of the emotions her use of the name roused in him. Anger. Pain. Guilt. Instead he stroked his long, straggly beard and considered. He'd known Doran had been having an affair with a Companion for some time. Should have realized there'd be more to her than that plastic sheen most of 'em had. "Well, sure can see lotsa ways you could serve the cause," he said slowly. "But this is a dangerous business. Don't you go thinkin' they'll be soft on you jus' cos you're a woman. A fancified lady." He paused, his expression suddenly very serious, almost menacing. "They ain't above torturin' the hell out of a female. Seen it my own self. More'n once."

A quiver of fear surprised Inara. She clenched her hands into tight fists and used the discomfort of her long nails digging into her palms to blot it out. "I'm not afraid, Monty. I have nothing left to live for. I long for death. If I die a martyr to the cause, so much the better."

Monty was struggling with his conscience. His mind was racing with all the possibilities suddenly opening up before him thanks to her offer. She could go anywhere. Meet with anyone. Learn their secrets. Spread lies. Undermine them from within. Gorramit! She could probably even poison the worst of 'em if need be.

On the other hand, she was a lovely young woman, little more than a girl. Her heart had been broken and she was acting on impulse out of hurt and grief. She was planning to throw all her learning, all her future – her very life – away because of love. Monty cocked his head on one side. Had to admit that Companion trainin' was ruttin' good. Looking at her sitting there – the picture of composure and serenity – you'd have never guessed at the passion drivin' her.

So he tried. Really. Monty tried. He shook his head. "You're young. You'll find somethin' to believe in. Maybe even another man." He stood up and turned his back, aiming for the impression of determined finality. "You're no use to me. Go home. Go back to Sihnon where you belong. Time's a great healer."

Inara's eyes flashed. She too stood up.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Lieutenant," she said, enunciating each word with icy precision. "I'll go. But not to Sihnon. I've taken a sacred vow of revenge and I will find someone to help me realize it. Someone less cowardly than you."

The accusation of cowardice hit home and Monty spun round, his fist raised ready to strike. Being a coward was something he'd accused himself many a time, having survived the war when better men had perished. But he wou'n't take it from no-one else.

Inara didn't even flinch. She held his gaze, a slight lift of her chin conveying both control and defiance. _Diyu_! She was a piece of work! Okay then, he'd played fair. Given it to her straight. But she'd chosen not to heed.

"I'll need you mobile," he said. "Able to reach selected targets within a certain time frame."

She nodded eagerly.

"I'll need your silence and your discretion. Not a word of this to anyone. No-one mind," he stressed, "not even folk you think're on our side. Could be they is. You sharin' your secrets with 'em'll only put 'em at risk. Could be they isn't..." There was no need to complete the sentence.

"And I'll need your patience."

Inara raised an eyebrow, inviting explanation.

"Because you're too valuable a piece to be blastin' away with willy-nilly." He opened the desk drawer and drew out a long, slim box. In response to the curiosity on her face, he opened it, revealing a pre-filled syringe. He snapped it closed quickly, cutting off the question rising to her lips. "I'll be needin' you for somethin' special."

Inara looked down at the box as he placed it in her hands and assented with a nod.

"Good." Monty turned back to his papers. "Now, as to mobility, that I can help with. Jus' so happens an ol' war buddy of mine'll be planetside 'bout two moons from now. Hear he's lookin' to rent out a shuttle."

* * * * *

_2516 – Late September_

Malcolm Reynolds was more desperate to find someone to lease his shuttle than Inara had expected. For all his bravado, she knew a man painfully short of coin when she saw one. Despite this, he was making a valiant attempt at playing the part of a man with endless options. She smiled inwardly at his bluffing and at the ease with which she could cut through it.

"You want me."A beat. Just enough to unsettle him. "On your ship."

"I do?" He recovered his cool with a disbelieving smirk at her confidence.

She made reference to the respectability her presence would give to his doubtless shady operation, playing mercilessly with his all too visible physical response to her beauty and his prejudice about her profession. It was almost fun.

He responded by insulting her. Well, that was only to be expected. He didn't seem to have had much schooling. His clothing was serviceable but worn, his body language common – coarse even. Obviously a man from some deserted backwater of the galaxy living on his wits. She hoped for his sake he had more of those than met the eye.

"Fine. Let me ask you this: if you're so respectable, why are you even here? I mean, I heard tell of fancy ladies such as yourself shipping out with the big luxury liners and the like. But a registered Companion on a boat like this? What are you running from?"

What am I running from? Everything. From a life of lies that promised to give me the 'verse on a platter and instead made me its slave. From people who pretended to be my friends only to turn their backs on me at the first sign of trouble. From the little pile of ashes that is all that is left of the man I loved.

"I'm not running from anything."

She knew he didn't believe her but he didn't press the point. Instead he changed tack, confirming her impression of him as a man who often had to think on his feet. Not a bad trait.

"If it's Alliance trouble you got, you might want to consider another ship. Some on board here fought for the Independents."

For an instant she wanted to tell him. Let it all spill out. Now why on earth was that? Because he was as innocent as a child? Because he had an aura of solid goodness about him? Or because of those eyes....?

I can't tell him anything. I must remember the distancing lessons. Push him away. For both our sakes. Nine moons ago, Doran was still alive and besides I am on a sacred quest.

So Inara told him the worst thing about herself she could think of. "The Alliance has no quarrel with me. I supported Unification." It was true. She had supported Unification. In the belief it would iron out the inequalities between worlds. Give everyone the same opportunities. She had been a rutting fool.

The effect her words had on Malcolm Reynolds was predictable but surprisingly hurtful. "Did ya? Well, I don't suppose you're the only whore that did." She'd been called a whore before but by people she held in contempt. She knew she would never be friends with Captain Reynolds but she did want him to respect her.

She looked up at him and flashed him one of her dazzling smiles, the sort that reduced men to babbling piles of need.

"Oh -- one further addendum. That's the last time you get to call me whore."

"Absolutely. Never again."

She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away confident in the knowledge that later that day he would be sending her a wave offering to lease her his spare shuttle on her terms.  



	5. Chapter 5

Trouble with Stitch Hessian was he fancied himself the tough guy, a natural leader. Jayne Cobb knew it wa'n't so. Stitch talked big but when the chips was down, he di'n't have the stones for taking hard decisions. Jayne di'n't have respect for much in the 'verse, but strength always spoke to him. Liked to know where he was with a fella. His pop was a strong man. Strict but fair. Kept his boys in line with his belt when they was young. Far from resentin' it, like some o' them panty-waisted idiots you saw spoutin' off about children's rights an' such on the Cortex entertainment channels, Jayne took comfort in the certainty it gave him. You knew where you was with his pop. An' if he said you'd done good, you knew he meant it. His good opinion was hard-won an' all the more worth havin' for it. Stitch Hessian wa'n't nowhere near the man his pop was but Jayne was happy enough to run with him whilst things were goin' smooth. Whilst he had coin enough for liquor an' women.

So it di'n't distress him overly when he had to push Stitch out of that stolen hovercraft on Higgins' Moon. Jus' watched him tumble down backwards, arms and legs flailin' about like a broken windmill an' shriekin' like a gorram girl. Now, tossin' them strongboxes overboard was another matter entirely. Damn near broke Jayne's heart.

After giving Higgins the slip, Jayne made his way back home. Truth was he missed his mother an' the way she fussed over him, although he'd have cut his own tongue out rather than admit it. He liked the noise an' chaos of his family home. Even though his brothers and sisters were all growed up now, they still spent a lot of time visitin'. Matty, his favourite sister, was still at home. Her health had never been good an' besides, she'd always been a bit of a home buddy.

Jayne arrived home just before Christmas and they was all real glad to see him. His mother held him tight against her ample breast, tears of joy streaming down her face but the grunt his father gave him was the welcome that touched him most. Between men there was no need for gushin'.

Christmas came an' went an' so did New Year. Jayne was happy. His pop had a good welding job at the foundry and his brothers were working on ranches as cattle hands. A time or two, Jayne helped them out and was surprised to find that working with the beasts could be kind of peacifyin'. On top of that there was the fun of smackin' 'em.

Then one day, pop had a serious word with Jayne about him getting complacent and not standing on his own two feet like a man. Told him a grown man couldn't be livin' at home forever. Best find a job and quickly. Because the only people who cou'n't find jobs was them as wa'n't lookin' hard enough.

That's how Jayne came to enlist as an Alliance mercenary for a six months tour of duty, putting down rebellions on border planets. It was good work and paid well. Jayne revelled in the use of firearms – a long standing hobby of his. He was an excellent shot, best in the squad. Could shoot a browncoat rebel through the head from half a mile away. Only sometimes he liked to just wing 'em, cuz firing extra rounds into 'em could be hilarious.

Only thing Jayne didn't like about the job was his Commanding Officer. Fella had come straight out of some Alliance military academy with a head stuffed full of book learning and no common sense. He and Jayne didn't see eye to eye. Jayne often questioned his tactics which led to him being threatened with a spell in the cooler. Weak-tea _hundan_ never followed through with it, though. When his six months was up, Jayne was glad not to renew the contract.

His next job was on Greenleaf, working as body guard for August Kingsley, one of the planet's top lawyers. Man had endless amounts of coin but, as far as Jayne could tell, no backbone. Frightened of his own shadow, he was. Claimed to have legions of enemies because of his success in putting villains behind bars but Jayne smelt a lot of bragging coming off that claim. He was pernickity too, always whining about Jayne's boots dirtying up his fancy carpets and complaining that Jayne should do something about his "powerfully natural odour". Whatever that meant. From his position on guard in the entrance hall Jayne would watch Kingsley going about his business. Which seemed to involve an awful lot of shuffling papers about and filing his nails. Filing his nails! Jayne could just imagine what his pop would have had to say about that.

One evening when Jayne had had to endure four hours at the opera they were confronted by a gang of scruffy youths who threatened Kingsley with an evil looking blade and demanded all his valuables. He instantly went pale and started trembling, looking to Jayne, who was lingering in front of the town whore house with a wistful expression, for protection. If it hadn't been for the rutting opera and the certain knowledge that Kingsley wouldn't give him time off for some female company, who knows, Jayne might have been in more of a mood to help him. As it was he just shrugged and let the gang make away with Kingsley's coin and jewelry. "Don't bother sackin' me," he told his employer. "I quit. Workin' for you has become too damn embarrassin'." Kingsley took off for home, running like a girl in heels whilst Jayne caught up with the gang. The leader, spunky little fella, tried to stab him but Jayne yanked the blade from his hand and shoved him up against a wall, blocking his windpipe with his forearm. "Hey, mister, we di'n't mean you no harm..." one of the others said, "Here, take it all back..." and they held out their newly won spoils in shaking hands.

"Hell, no, I don't want that crap!" Jayne replied. "I just want this..." He let the boy he'd pinioned drop to the floor gasping for breath and turned the knife over in his hands, gazing at it admiringly. He'd fallen in love with this blade as soon as he'd laid eyes on it. "I'm gonna call her Binky."

Next job Jayne took was on Verbena. Felt real proud walking into that factory knowing he was following in his pop's footsteps as a welder. Place smelt of burning, chemicals and sweat. Darn sight more manly than the last job. Had to keep your wits about you in this place. Demand for military skiffs was as high as ever and all of them needed gearshifts. Production was mostly automated, but some of it needed a man's eyes and hands. All the same, you had to keep up with the machinery or you was likely to get welded your own self. It was hot, demanding work and Jayne went home exhausted. Happy.

The foreman noticed Jayne's talent for the work and approached him with an offer of overtime on a 'special project' which Jayne eagerly accepted. Hell, it wa'n't like he had much of a life outside the factory and his mother had written saying how Matty's medicine was getting more and more expensive. Few more credits would help them out a lot. Make his pop proud.

The foreman's 'special project' involved converting ex-service skiffs into ships that could be used by slavers. Basically all Jayne had to do was cut out all the fittings so that the maximum number of slaves could be packed in. He never gave the morality of it a second thought. Most people was better suited to slavery than freedom anyway.

He stayed on Verbena till the end of March 2515. Would have stayed longer, but the foreman was arrested for creaming off some of the factory's profits and replaced by a woman with a face like a slapped arse who never laughed, not even at Jayne's best jokes.

Jayne found himself on the move again, finally pitching up on Three Hills, a dirt poor moon populated by small-holders. Began working for a widow woman with three fine-looking daughters but no sons. Outdoor work suited Jayne. Liked seeing the sky above him and feeling the soil beneath his boots. Liked the simplicity of cattle-rearing. The best bit was rounding them up. Sometimes Jayne would ride his employer's only horse, swooping up on the cattle from behind, swatting them with a leather strap, enjoying the feeling of power it gave him. Oh, and the daughters' admiring glances. Poor things rarely got to see any man at all, let alone one as muscled and vital as Jayne. Who was he to deny them a little pleasure?

Looking back on it he had to admit bedding all three of 'em had probably been a mistake. Stirred up such a hornet's nest of jealousy and rivalry that eventually Jayne got the sack.

It was Christmas time again, so Jayne decided to go back home for a while. Ha'n't seen his folks for near on two years. A lot had changed in them two years. Work was slow at pop's factory, an' his hours had been cut back. The ranch his brother Marion worked on had gone bust after the owner bought in a load of cheap feed that turned out to have been poisoned. Probably by some dumb-ass Independent faction still fighting for their pointless cause. Made no difference in the grand scheme of things, but for Jayne's family it made all the difference between living comfortable and finding life a struggle. Di'n't help none that Matty was sicker than ever.

Jayne boiled with the need to punch something until it bled. He worked a bit of it off with a street brawl after a few drinks but next morning the frustration and anger was still in him. He realized he needed to do something more useful than fighting for fun and decided he was gonna to get a good payin' job an' stick with it. He wa'n't gonna worry about whether he liked the boss or not. He was gonna work smart, toe the line and not let himself be distracted by womenfolk or liquor. He was gonna do the job an' get paid. And send as much coin as he could back home.

Best paying job – best legitimate paying job - Jayne had ever had was that six months working for the Alliance so he tracked down a few of his fellow mercenaries, looking for openings. Pretty soon found out that these days the Alliance was more interested in Public Relations than they had been. Not that they'd given up on putting down rebellions, just now they did it more subtle like. Instead of sending in uniformed men, they used freelance operatives, particularly men with bad reputations.

Marco Mendez was a man with a bad reputation. Physically the man was not exactly intimidating. Had the look of a greased weasel to Jayne. But he was a real desperado, prepared to do anything – anything – no questions asked. Which is why he got the plum wet work assignments the Alliance di'n't want to get their own hands dirty with. Jayne didn't much like him- there a vanity about the man that was almost girlish as well as hilarious, given how hideous he was – but Jayne figured he didn't have to. He just had to toe the line, earn the credits.

* * * * *

Jayne stood in the doorway of the bar and scanned the crowd for Marco and his side-kick Mateo. Mateo – another ugly sonofabitch. Workin' next to him, Jayne had begun to develop some sympathy for Kingsley's views on personal hygiene.

The room was crowded and noisy and the air thick with blue fug from tobacco and other smokers' leaves. Marco was deep in conversation with a tall man who, despite his attempts at looking dishevelled, had the aspect of a moneyed, powerful individual. Jayne made his was over to the table, pulled up a chair and straddled it like he was riding a horse.

The stranger threw Marco a querying look. "He one of yours?"

"Yes," Marco nodded. "My tracker, Jayne Cobb."

The other man acknowledged Jayne with a brief nod before going back to the negotiations Jayne had interrupted.

"I think you'll find this arrangement better than hard currency. The goods are much in demand. You should make a killing ... "He smiled at the pun. "More than one in fact." He placed a couple of photographs on the table top. One a headshot of a man, the other a picture of the same man standing next to a woman, both of them dressed in brown coats. "These are the targets. Got word they landed on Demeter yesterday, bringing in the usual contraband – drugs, alcohol, maybe a few weapons, lot of unlicensed electronics. They'll probably bury the loot in some out-of-the-way spot and wait for their credits to clear before giving the contact directions for finding them. Your job is to track them down and kill them. Kill them both. Reynolds made a bit of a name for himself during the war and is just the sort of man rebel groups are looking for to provide a focus for their treasonable activities."

Marco yawned, displaying a mouthful of rotten teeth. He was clearly bored by having to listen to an explanation for killin' these folk but Jayne raised a hand. "What about the woman?"

Unease flickered across the stranger's face at the unexpected intervention from a subordinate but he quickly replaced it with a cold smile. "I suggest you shoot her first. You won't kill Reynolds if she's got so much as a single breath left in her. Believe me. In this case the old saying that the female of the species is more deadly than the male is somewhat of an understatement."

Jayne picked up the second photograph and examined the two faces staring out of it carefully. They di'n't look much, but looks could be deceiving. As he handed the picture back to the stranger, Jayne reran the deal in his head.

"Hey!" he said, a little too loudly making people at neighbouring tables turn to look. He dropped his voice and demanded "What's better than hard currency? How much are you payin' us?"

"Nothing. The deal is..."

Jayne slammed his fist down onto the table making the glasses shudder and people notice them yet again. "Nothin'? Don't see the percentage in that." And he glared at Marco challenging him to disagree.

The stranger spoke again. Slowly. So that there was no misunderstanding his meaning. "The deal is this: you track and capture Reynolds and the woman. You use any means necessary to discover the whereabouts of the loot. Then you kill them both. The loot is yours, to keep or sell, as you see fit. Dealing in hard currency in these ... difficult times ... means our 'business association' could become public knowledge. Neither of us wants that." He paused to assess the big man's reaction. Jayne was still glowering at him sullenly. "If, for some reason you do not fulfill your part of the bargain ... well, hard currency may be the least of your worries...."

The gorram hundan was threatenin' them! Jayne was outraged but bit his tongue and tried to think of the money he would be sending home as Marco shook hands on the deal. "Ees easy," he said. "We keel your targets for you, take the loot. Easy."

* * * * *

There was no denyin' it, the man was cool as a fresh poured beer on a central planet.. Sure, he was standing there with his hands in the air, but he wa'n't givin' off even the tiniest whiff of fear. Even seemed to be strugglin' to keep a smirk from creepin' over his face. As for the woman, she was so gorram ice-cold it was scary. Di'n't stop her being easy on the eye though.

"You want I should shoot 'em now, Marco," Jayne asked, scrutinizing his quarry with a mixture of fascination and annoyance.

"Wait until they tell us where they put the stuff," Marco ordered.

Tamade! He was at it again with the tryin' not to smile. Jayne felt insulted. "That's a good idea. Good idea." He leveled his gun at Reynolds and the side kick again. "Tell us where the stuff is so's I can shoot you."

Far from starting to plead for their lives as was usual – traditional almost – on such occasions, Reynolds just raised one hand a little higher, like someone in a position to call for silence. No sooner had the words "Point of interest? Offering to shoot us might not work so well as an incentive as you might imagine" left his lips than Jayne realized he was standin' slap bang in the path of an oncomin' whirlwind. He had an eerie certainty that everything was about to be turned upside down and that somehow the sorry _liu mang_ standing there smilin' to himself would be the cause of it.

"Anyway, we've hidden it. So, you kill us, you'll never find it." Smug. Yup, he was downright smug now.

"Found you easy enough."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did, didn't you?" The whirlwind was gathering force. Jayne could hear it rushing in his ears and suddenly he was negotiating a deal of his own with this man he ought to have been killing. Instead he shot Marco in the leg. Which kinda terminated their partnership.

* * * * *

"This here's your bunk," the Captain said, pushing the laddered doorway open. "No-one goes in there 'less you invite 'em. Likewise, you stay out of other folks' bunks 'til they tell you otherwise. On you go. Make yourself comfortable."

Jayne felt awkward. He was eager to descend that ladder and explore his new home, but he didn't trust anyone enough to turn his back on them. The Captain seemed to understand his hesitation. "Well, I got captainin' to be doin'. If you're hungry, there's food in the kitchen. Jus' help yourself. Although we will be havin' a sit down meal at twenty hundred. Can't guarantee it'll be edible though. It's Zoe's turn to cook," he explained with a grimace before striding off down the walkway leaving Jayne to unpack.

* * * * *

They were all sitting at a long wooden table gleaming with the polish of ages when Jayne appeared in the mess, attracted by the smell of cooking. He'd been expecting reconstituted protein cakes, but instead they were gettin' fresh produce. This Captain was more generous than most towards his crew. Jayne feared that might be a sign of weakness.

He cast a quick eye over the company, sizing up each person in a few seconds. The side-kick – Zoe – could handle herself. It stood out a mile. Her movements were confident, slow and assured, her body strong and lithe. She was leaning against a gingery-blond fella who seemed to be dancin' with nervous energy even when he was sittin' down. Strange choice of bedfellow for a tasty woman like that, but Jayne could tell their relationship went beyond ruttin' by the casual way they touched. Or di'n't.

Opposite them at the Captain's left was an empty chair – presumably intended to Jayne himself - and in the next seat was a pretty little thing with tousled chestnut hair and smilin' eyes. Small but with a good coverin' of flesh, a sure indication of a healthy appetite in all departments. Jayne couldn't help but leer at her as she met his eyes and was surprised by the rush of warmth that went through him when she smiled back sweetly before blushing and lowering her lashes with a flutter.

"Ah, here's Jayne Cobb now, " Captain Reynolds announced, pouring the last what looked promisingly like hard liquor from a thick glass bottle into six enamel mugs. "Let's celebrate him joinin' the team with a little of Kaylee's engine-still firewater. He's a good fighter I'm thinkin' an' a second-to-none tracker." He stood up and started doing the introductions. "You can call me Mal. Or Captain, if we're on a job. This here's Zoe, my second in command, and Wash, her husband. I hear he's a genius pilot but if he asks, I never said it." He turned to the girl beside him and Jayne registered a softening of the Captain's face as he said, "An' this here's li'l Kaylee, our mechanic."

Jayne nodded his hellos and sat next to Kaylee. Hadn't seen a woman in near on three months an' it felt good to be sitting with two right now. Couldn't help but take a deep breath jus' to catch the smell of 'em. For an instant Jayne thought he saw the Captain's eyes darken as he did so, but next moment he was smilin' that big grin of his an' passin' plates around.

Jayne was lifting a forkful of food to his mouth when a third woman entered the room. The sight of her made him drop his fork with a clatter. She was slender and poised, slipping into her seat like butter melting on hot rice. Her long dark curls were piled up on top of her head, a few tendrils curling against the porcelain skin of her cheek and neck. She was wearing a dress of crimson silk and a row of glittering black stones at her throat. Jayne swallowed hard and tried to speak, but could only manage a pained grunt.

"An' this is Inara," Mal announced. He directed a quick grin at her, but his eyes were saying something Jayne couldn't quite fathom. "Jayne. Our new gun."

"Pleased to meet you, Jayne," she said graciously, reaching across the table to shake his hand.

"Likewise," he managed to answer through the drool that was coating his tongue..

"Best give it up, Jayne," Mal advised. "She might be a whore, but her rates is too high for the like of you an' me."

Inara ignored the insult and smiled at Jayne. "The term is Companion. Sadly the Captain has suffered too many well-earned blows to the head to remember that," she told him, shooting Mal a black look which was met with an amiable shrug and yet another grin.

Jayne was confused. He was sure he'd detected a rare strength in the Captain when he'd had him at gunpoint but lookin' at him now, lettin' a woman disrespect him up in public, he wa'n't so sure. Jayne was of the firm belief that a team needed a leader. If this team di'n't have one ... well, that jus' might mean an openin' for him.

"Talkin' of what's affordable and what's not'," the Captain said, leaning back in his seat and reaching into the pocket of his pants, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have had ourselves one helluva good day. Credit for all." He pulled out a wad of notes and ruffled them contentedly.

"So, how you divvy up the take on this boat?" Jayne asked. Better start out how he meant to be goin' on. See he got his fair share.

"Well, first paid is Serenity. The ship. Without her, we're nothin'. Then we stock up the kitchen. After that we share out whatever's left between us. Equal like."

Jayne snorted, first with disgust because it was becoming apparent that this Captain was ruled by his crew and second because equal wa'n't his idea of fair.

"You got somethin' to say, Jayne?" Reynolds asked, pausing in the middle of dealing out the money into five separate piles. The question was put so mildly, Jayne didn't hear the warning note in the Captain's voice.

"Hell yes! Seems to me you, an' me, an' her" he pointed at Zoe, "was the ones who put our lives on the line. Her," he tilted his head sideways towards Kaylee "an' him," indicating Wash with a nod, "was back here in the safety of the ship. Which means we oughta get ... twice as much as them!"

Reynolds fixed him with an unblinking stare. "No."

Jayne was so fired up with the injustice of bein' paid the same as a girl that he didn't notice the way Kaylee suddenly tensed up. Nor the amused glances exchanged by Wash and Zoe.

He stood up and planted his hands, palms down, either side of the Captain's plate, leaning over him menacingly. "Think you an' me need to have a talk, Mal. You ain't gonna be payin' me no woman's wage..."

"I'd be much obliged if you was to sit back down," Reynolds said quietly.

"I'll sit down when I'm good an' ready an' not before!" Jayne spat angrily. This time the crackle of danger in the air was unmistakable but he'd gone too far to back down without loss of standing in these people's eyes. Had to see it through.

"I ain't askin'...." the Captain said in a low voice that might have been a soft growl. The in one swift movement he was on his feet and had smacked Jayne upside of his left ear with the empty liquor bottle. Gorramit, there was the rush of that _feng kuang_ whirlwind again. Jayne struggled to regain his balance, but Reynolds kicked the chair out from under him, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor.

A boot stomped down onto Jayne's windpipe, hard enough to make breathin' difficult but not enough to snap the cartilage. Captain Reynolds was glowering down at him with a face like thunder. "I am the Captain of this ship and no-one but no-one tells me what to do on it, dong ma? You can't live with that, best you leave now."

Jayne managed a strangled grunt by way of reply, as he tried but failed to raise the foot that pinned him to the floor up from his neck. When he finally stopped struggling, the Captain released him and sat back down at the head of the table, going back to his meal as calm as you like.

Looking all kinds of sheepish, Jayne got to his feet, avoiding eye contact with the others.

"Sit down," the Captain ordered. "I ain't finished sortin' out the take. Once I'm done, you can take your share an' go or you can stay but never," he fixed Jayne again with that steely look, "never forget who's Captain on this boat."

* * * * *

Jayne stretched out on his bed and rubbed the swelling above his ear. His head hurt like hell and his throat felt like it had been sand-papered. He grinned to himself. He'd been right first time. Reynolds wa'n't no pushover. First proper leader Jayne had ever got a job with. He reminded Jayne more than a little of his pop. Kind a man who's good opinion counted for something. Made you wanna earn it.

Jayne rolled onto his side and looked at the little recess between the bed and the bulkhead, thinking how it would make the perfect place for storing his guns. The bed sheets smelt fresh and clean.

He rolled over again and looked around the bunk. His bunk. Chair, table, lamp, basin and pull-out john. Wa'n't that supposed to be the definition of home?

Sure felt like it.


	6. Final Pieces on the Board

_NATHANIEL FRYE – January 2519_

People like me don't say no to people like him.

Anyway, it was only a little thing. No big deal. About eighteen months ago he came to me with this proposition. Said if I played nice, he could guarantee I'd stay in business. Di'n't need to tell me that if I didn't, I'd be shut down. All he wanted was for me to copy and paste her waves to me - and mine to her - to the source box address he gave me. Where's the harm in that? It's not like we talk about anything important anyway. We're just ordinary people telling each other ordinary stuff. Father and daughter stuff. Why did he want to read it? I don't know. I didn't ask. Besides, it's not like I could've refused.

Lookin' back, I suppose it was a bit strange – someone like him wanting to know about the everyday lives of people like us. I guess I thought maybe the government was finally taking an interest in the little folk. That's not so impossible, is it? I don't know, perhaps I should have tried harder to get out of it. Perhaps I should have tweaked the waves some before passin' them on. I just didn't see it as a big deal.

Don't get me wrong. I love my daughter and I'd do anything for her. But I got other children to think of too. Children still livin' with me here, who are happy to be at home with their father, not yearnin' to be flyin' off half way round the galaxy. I gotta look out for them too.

She was always restless, just like her momma. Couldn't keep her at home neither. How long ago is it now? Five years? Six? Ran off with a soldier to one of them planets on the Rim, leavin' me here tryin' to run the business and raise six kids. Gave them my all I did, and what's been my reward? A strugglin' repair shop and a daughter who took off with a stranger first chance she got. There's gratitude for you.

Still, at least she's got a job. And it's one less mouth for me to be feedin'. I want her to do well, of course I do. She's still my little girl. Maybe when she gets over this wanderin' phase, she'll come back and help out around here again. Look after her daddy in his old age.

If she can ever tear herself away from that gorram ship and her Captain, that is. Only saw the man once, that same day he offered her the job. Didn't make much of an impression on me. Just a workin' fella like the rest of us. But her waves is always full of him, how brave and clever and nice he is. How he's so good at lookin' after her and the rest of the crew. Like being taken care of was something new to her. 'Course it could be she shares her momma's weakness for a good head of hair and a tight ass. As for him, I can see why he's so keen to keep her on board. Must be nice to have someone appreciate all you do for them. I'd have liked a little of that myself.

Now I come to think of it, I wonder if it ain't him that Alliance fella is really interested in. Could be he's a smuggler they're trackin'? Or maybe he's on the run for some reason? I wouldn't be overly surprised. These is hard times. People's forced to do all sorts just to get by. Can't see why he'd be any different. We all got our price.

So, if he is in trouble with the Feds, maybe it's just as well I agreed to help the authorities keep an eye on him. Because that's my daughter he's got with him. If he's puttin' her in the way of danger, I sure am glad the law is ready to step in. They'll know she had nothin' to do with it, if they've been readin' her waves. And even if he has taken advantage of her inexperience and good heart to trick her into doing somethin' illegal, me havin' helped gather evidence against him has got to count for something. Right?

So it's a good thing really that I didn't say no. She don't realize it, but I'm still takin' better care of her than that precious Captain of hers ever could.

Not sure what's in this package. Just know I've got to send it to the post office in the capital city on Agnis which is where Kaylee says they're headed en route for Brownfields. They should touch down just before her birthday. He told me it was a gift for her. Said he knew money was tight an' that an ordinary mechanic like me probably cou'n't compete with the Captain of a space ship when it came to buying presents. Told me I should say it was from me.

Can't be any harm in that, surely?

* * * * *  
_FRANKIE "BADGER" CAINE – January 2519._

Likes of me don't say no to the likes of 'im. Anyone'll tell you that.

So, if 'e tells me I gotta do business with that __ Captain Malcolm Reynolds, I ain't got no choice in the matter. No-one's saying I gotta like it.

Because I don't. Don't like it. Don't like 'im. Don't like 'is attitude nor the way he looks down on me. 'E don't seem to 'ave quite got it through 'is thick 'ead that 'is side lost the gorram war an' my side won. But then, my side always does. The trick is not to declare your allegiance till the outcome's clear.

So now I gotta offer him another job an' help 'im line the pockets of them old soldier's pants of 'is. All because me laddo says so.

Owe 'im a lot, I do. Back on Dyton Colony I wa'n't the respectable businessman you see today. Nah – far from it. My entrepreneurial skills wa'n't much appreciated there. They thought I was a petty thief, _ben tiang shen de yi dui rou_ no-hopers that there were. One deal too many an' I found myself in the lock-down. _Diyu_! It's not like I planned for the girl to get killed....

So, there I was. Banged up for all eternity in a piss-poor jail on that _goushi_ backwater of a planet with nothin' to contemplate but me nuts. Thought I was gonna be there for the rest of my natural...

Then along comes me laddo. Could tell 'e was quality soon as 'e walked in. The way the warders straightened 'emselves up, fastened buttons an' stood to attention. Nah, there was more to it than that. There was fear too ...

'Ow 'e knew about me, I got no idea. An' I ain't never asked. Ain't my place, see? Likes of me jus' do what we're told by the likes of 'im, no questions asked. Only thing I know for sure about 'im is 'e's called Parkin.

Anyway, 'e arranged for my release an' paid my passage 'ere to Persephone. 'Elped me set meself up an' found me a few 'eavies to ensure business went smooth. Never thought I'd end up on a half-way civilized rock like this one. I like it 'ere. Like 'aving me own little castle to be king of. Like bein' part of the community.

So I wou'n't go against direct orders even if I'd wanted to. Which I don't. Something tells me this job on Brownfields ain't gonna be all plain sailin' for the good Captain. An' if it wipes that smug look off 'is face, so much the better.

* * * * *

_LIAN NOE – January 2519_

There's been another attack. The fifth in as many days. This time three men died. Two of them fathers, one just nineteen years old. It's getting worse. We'll catch the perpetrators before long, I've no doubt. We always do. We've got the resources, the manpower and money, to do whatever we want. And yet they keep fighting us. Keep killing our men. Countless little tragedies across the 'verse that change nothing in the overall scheme of things, but which shatter the lives of decent people forever.

It has to end.

Unification Day was supposed to have stopped it. We thought that once all the planets were under Alliance control there'd be peace. We believed the Independents would see the benefits of unity, law and stability once their intransigent leadership was out of the way. Instead, the Browncoat cause turned into the Hydra. Cut off one of its heads and seven more sprout in its place, spitting poison and spreading discontent throughout the galaxy.

Our response has been to crack down on them hard. Round them up. Execute those we have a case against, imprison the rest. Zero tolerance for Independent sympathizers. But the less mercy we have shown them, the stronger they have become. Thus far we've managed to keep the strength of opposition to Alliance rule out of the news, but their numbers are growing and would-be martyrs are flocking to the Browncoat cause in scores.

I find myself in disagreement with my fellow Consuls, who still wish to pursue their hard line approach. It seems to me the time has come for negotiation. Conditions are ripe. Both sides are becoming weary with the fighting and loss of life, even if neither will admit it publicly. So, in the interests of ensuring the future of the Alliance of Unified Planets, I have put out feelers and tried to identify Independent leaders who might be amenable to reason.

According to my sources, the Independents' cell on Brownfields is headed by moderates and offers my best hope for success. Naturally they are unwilling to come to me, fearing a trap. So I must go to them, as proof of my good will. I am only too aware of the dangers of this endeavour. The Independents have no love for me after my part in the war, and there are many on my own side who would view my actions as treason. But I cannot sit by and do nothing and let people die pointless deaths.  



	7. The Black Queen Advances

Although he pretends not to notice, Mal knows Zoe is watching him, getting ready to say something. Her hesitation confirms his suspicion that she's going to point out some failing of his as soon as she gets the chance. So he keeps his eyes on his plate. Might as well make it difficult for her if she's gonna get all critical.

Around them the bright chatter of the rest of the crew reminds Mal of birdsong on a spring morning back on Shadow and for once the memory of home is a sweet one. He glances quickly from face to face, thankful for each of these extraordinary people. For all they have given him, for how they've given him purpose again ... He wants to keep them all here, just like they are now. Wants to save them from their fates.

"What time we settin' down, Wash?" he asks, interrupting the general conversation with the brisk business-like manner he often uses to conceal emotion. "Don't want Badger's buyer accusin' us of bein' late."

"Eleven or so, Agnis time." Wash replies, stretching lazily. "Suppose I better go get ready for that."

"Me too!" Kaylee says, rising from the table. "Wanna check how Serenity's landin' hydraulics are workin'. Think we might be needin' some new parts for her, Cap'n..."

"Ain't no money for fripperies, Kaylee," he tells her sternly. "You best be certain we really need any stuff you ask for."

Gorramit! He doesn't need to look at Zoe to feel the ferocity of the look she is shooting him. But he still isn't going to make it easy for her.

A little crest-fallen, Kaylee trails out followed by Simon and River.

"You gonna help Jayne get the cargo ready for unloading?" Zoe asks Book, signalling with her eyes that she wants to be alone with Mal.

"I don't need help from no Preacher!" Jayne protests, oblivious.

"Oh, I think you do at that, son," Book says mildly, a gentle pat on the mercenary's shoulder propelling him towards the door. "In every possible way.."

"You rushin' off somewhere too?" Mal asks Inara, as she too gets to her feet. "Di'n't think the menfolk on Agnis would be hygienic enough for a fine lady such as yourself"

"They aren't. I do, however, need to purchase a few items ..." She rolls her eyes at the suggestive way he cocks an eyebrow. "Not that it's any of your concern."

Zoe waits until the clatter of Inara's heels fades before rounding on Mal. "You've forgotten, haven't you?"

"No!" he assures her indignantly. All the while racking his brains for what it is he's forgotten. "It's all under control."

Zoe tilts her head to one side, a ghost of a smile behind her eyes. "Really, Sir?"

"Really." Now he wishes he'd just admitted he didn't have a damn clue as to her meaning. Ought to know by now she can read him like a book.

"Good. I'll leave it with you then." Poker-faced, Zoe maintains eye contact, waiting for him to crack.

He folds his arms defiantly across his chest.

"Fine. You do that." She turns and has reached the doorway before he will admit defeat. "On second thoughts, don't. What in the _diyu_ are we talkin' about, Zoe?"

A faint glimmer of triumph warms her solemn expression as she says, "Kaylee's birthday, Sir. Day after tomorrow. Can't believe you forgot about it. You bein' like family to her. Can you imagine how upset she'd've been? She's sure to have cried. On. Her. Birthday. They do say as how that's bad luck..."

"Yeah, and you're pushin' yours now."

"Just tryin' to be helpful, Sir."

Mal's scowl finally chases her away. He feels in the pocket of his pants and breathes a sigh of relief. At least he has coin enough to get his mechanic a present.

* * * * *

The scrap dealer drove a hard bargain, but the deal was a fair one. Mal tucks the synchronizer under his coat, feeling more than a mite pleased with himself. Now all he has to do is pick up the paperwork for Badger's Brownfields job from the post office and they can be on their way again.

He turns a corner and almost collides with Kaylee, who slips her arm through his and falls into step beside him. "Okay if I come with you to the post office, Cap'n? Got somethin' to collect my own self."

The queue is a long, slow one. Kaylee chirrups away but Mal isn't really listening to her. He's observing the man in front of them. Noting his very blond, precisely cut hair. The way he stands tall, like a man who's never had to submit to no-one. Strange for someone on a planet like Agnis where most folk have to grub a living and ingratiate themselves with all manner of _wangba dan_ just to put food on the table. Stranger still that he's picking up his own mail.

Finally it's their turn. The dumpy, dusty looking woman behind the counter hands Mal a large brown envelope and Kaylee a small package for which she has to sign.

"It's from my daddy," she tells Mal, her eyes shining. "First present he's been able to get me in a long while."

* * * * *

The commons room has an eerily peaceful feel to it as Mal enters. Simon is on the sofa reading, and River is sprawled out on the floor, engrossed in the picture she is drawing. Mal crouches down beside her to take a closer look. It's a row of Russian dolls, starting with one as big as his hand and going down to one so small it can hardly be seen. Each exquisitely detailed.

Mal whistles softly. "Well now River, ain't that somethin'? You sure can draw pretty."

She turns to look at him as though only just aware of his presence. "Of course I can. I am gifted. Everyone says so."

Mal can't help smiling at that. He gets up and sits next to Simon. "You seen that, Doc?" he asks. "Looks like those meds you're givin' her are finally workin'."

Simon frowns. "I'm not so sure Mal. All she ever draws are Russian dolls. It's like a compulsion."

Mal considers for a moment. "Well, at least she's calmer...."

Of course, he should never had said it. It was inviting trouble. Suddenly River is scribbling furiously over the smallest doll, her hand moving faster and faster, the pencil digging into and tearing the paper. "Bitch! _Jian hou_ bitch!"

"Hey there!" Mal is beside her again in an instant. He catches her wrist and gently prises the pencil from her clenched fist. "No need for cussin'." He feels the tension ebb from her body and lets go of her hand. "You OK?"

"Which me are you asking?"

"The one sittin' right here," he replies, unfazed by the question. "The one tearin' up a perfectly good picture."

"It's not her you have to worry about," River replies, her eyes suddenly huge. She leans forward and presses her forehead against his. "There's a vulture in the Easter Egg," she whispers, her voice trembling.

"Uh-huh?" Mal tries to be non-committal. He pulls back, searching her face for meaning. Maybe she's going somewhere with this. Girl often makes a crazy kind of sense.

"I'm a gorram Greek horse," River tells him seriously. There's a brief pause and then she dissolves into a cascade of tinkling laughter, leaving Mal wondering if she's teasing him and Simon once again fearful that Mal will throw them off the ship.

"River, _mei-mei_, I think it's time for your rest." Simon attempts to take control of the situation by removing his sister from the room, but she resists his tugging hands, dancing back on light feet.

"Can't go yet. Not my time." She smiles sweetly at him and then at Mal. "Which will be first? The chicken or the egg?"

* * * * *

When Jayne reaches the top of the ladder leading up from his bunk he finds River standing there, her eyes blank and unblinking. No wonder he finds her so damn creepifying.

"You want something?" he growls.

"Fifteen guns, including nine automatics. Six knives and handcuffs. Not all for business."

He looks stunned. "You been in my bunk, girl? Cos if you have I swear I'll...."

"Swear you'll what, Jayne?" Mal walks awful soft for a man of his size. His tone is even. It's the familiarity of the question that's menacing.

"Nothin'," Jayne mumbles.

River steps forward and taps his chest lightly with two fingers. "Don't need to go in. Can see them here." She laughs merrily at the bewilderment on his face and skips off down the walkway.

"Best you keep your door locked, Jayne," Mal advises, watching her slight form disappear. "Guns and River make for unpleasantness."

"Yeah. Don't want her doin' her math on me with one, that's for sure."

* * * * *

Rantoong is using the pliers he acquired during his visit to a skyplex a few years back to carefully prune the bonsai tree on his desk. They've never lost their edge. Still sharp enough to cut through bone. The door opens silently and Parkin walks in, equally silently. Rantoong doesn't bother looking up.

"Is the bird in flight?" He sounds almost bored.

"Yes. As expected, the dove is on its way."

"You're certain?"

"According to my sources. Went to confession at the Abbey before he left. Seeking absolution."

A cold chuckle escapes Rantoong. "Really? Absolution? Other people's superstitions are so .. convenient. Is everything else in place?"

Parkin nods with grim satisfaction. "The package has been uplifted, although remains, as yet, unopened."

"Naturally. Sensible girls don't open birthday presents early. Takes away half the pleasure."

* * * * *

Jayne wipes the foam from his lip with the back of his hand and sets his empty glass back down on the counter hard enough to attract the barman's attention. "'Nother one, Mal? I'm payin'."

Mal would like to be back on Serenity, checking that Badger's cargo is properly stowed but if he goes back now he'll make Zoe mad. Since the handover was so easy, she reckoned it would do Simon and Book good to take responsibility for getting the crates on board – under her supervision. Make them feel accepted as part of the crew. So Mal pushes down his twitchiness and accepts the beer Jayne has already bought.

They fight their way through the teeming bar to a table and take a seat.

"Not often jobs go as smooth as that, eh Mal?"Jayne grins. "Thought any contact of Badger's would be as slippery as him, an' twice as hard to track down but here we are, all done an' dusted already."

His words only increase Mal's unease. As a rule his life don't go smooth and when it does, it usually means trouble of some kind.

"So it looks like we got ourselves some free time... " Jayne comments casually.

"We're off this rock as soon as Inara's back on board," Mal tells him firmly. "Before nightfall, for certain."

"Oh, I won't need more than an hour," Jayne replies. "I know what I'm lookin' for. An' I know exactly where to go to get it."

Not for the first time, Mal envies how simple and easy a thing gratification is to Jayne. It almost distracts him from recognizing a straight-backed, very blond man talking with a couple of whores in the corner.

* * * * *

They touched down on Brownfields thirty-six hours ago and still there's been no wave from Badger's contact. Without payment for the goods they can't refuel or buy in provisions. The waiting's more than enough to make a man tetchy. Mal is glad they have Kaylee's birthday to distract them.

"A synchronizer, sir?" Zoe asks incredulously as Kaylee unwraps Mal's gift. "How ... thoughtful."

Wash leans in confidentially towards him. "That's my wife being ironic, sir."

But Kaylee is delighted. "Shiny!" she exclaims, reaching up to kiss Mal's cheek, making him feel utterly cheap and needful of making up for it.

"Now mine!" Jayne insists, pressing a box into Kaylee's hand.

Everyone's jaw falls open as Kaylee opens it and lifts out a delicate gold filigree bracelet. Her eyes go wide with surprise and pleasure. "Ooh, Jayne..." she murmurs before crushing her arms around him in a tight embrace, making the mercenary grin from ear to ear. Simon's confidence in the perfection of his gift - a book on engine design - evaporates and even Inara wonders if the tortoiseshell hair combs she used to dress Kaylee's hair were good enough for this special girl.

"Nothing says thoughtful like jewelry" At Mal's side Wash shakes his head sadly.

There's only one parcel left to open. The one from Kaylee's daddy. Mal can tell by the way she lingers over opening it that it means more to her than any of the others.

"Can of snakes." River pronounces. Her eyes cloud over as she looks at Kaylee. "And you can't charm them for all your singing."

Mal glares at Simon who hastens to silence his sister, even though Kaylee is giving him a sympathetic, forgiving smile. "Oh! How did he know? It's a tape of dance music like I got from the ball, Cap'n." An idea occurs to her. "We should have our own ball here! I'll get my player..."

Normally Mal would have forbidden any arrangement that might force him to dance, but he can't deny Kaylee her birthday party. He'll just sidle off and do captainy things as soon as the music starts.

But this music is not like the sedate, measured stuff played at Inara's fancy shindig. It's a frenzy of fiddles and flutes that has everyone tapping their feet. Singing too, in some long forgotten tongue. Simon remembers there was a dance on Earth-that-was called 'Strip the Willow' that would suit and paces it out for them. River picks it up instantly, and begins pulling the others into the dance, whirling them round till they are all reeling, laughing and breathless. The pink flush on Kaylee's cheek is not simply the result of exertion. Its pure joy from made all the more intense by Simon's arm circling her waist as they spin round together.

Mal finds himself paired with Inara and which is exactly what he did not want. Dancing means touching, and touching means ... The curve of her hips against his side is unsettling and the sweet, spicy smell of her evokes that familiar longing he tries so gorram hard to ignore. He's just about to make an excuse to leave when the music picks up speed again and, trying to keep up with it, River loses her balance and crashes into them.

"Whoa there," Mal begins but before he can finish the girl has collapsed onto the floor where she lies twitching, a trail of foaming drool seeping from one corner of her mouth.

Mal scoops her up in his arms like a wounded soldier and with an exceedingly agitated Simon in tow strides off to the infirmary as quick as a man under sniper fire. He lays her carefully down on the exam table. Despite the shot Simon gives her, for a full half an hour she convulses, head and heels pulling her body backwards into an arc like a bow under tension. Simon frets, Mal looks grim and Book begins to pray. Tears trickle down Kaylee's face as she pleads "She'll be okay, won't she? Cap'n? Simon?" Everyone waits anxiously for a diagnosis, an improvement. Something.

And then it happens. River sits up, wipes her mouth with a tissue and smiles sheepishly. "I'm all right. Really. I'm so sorry to have worried you. I don't know what came over me. Let's go back to the party. We were having such a lovely time."

Mal can't remember her ever having sounded this much like a normal person before. It should be a good thing and yet it's not. It makes the hairs on his neck stand up.

He glances over at Book who's standing on the threshold, observing River carefully, and knows he feels it too.

* * * * *

"Mal! Mal! For God's sake, wake up! Please!"

As Mal comes to, he realizes it's Simon who is shaking him by the shoulders, clutching his fingers so deep into the muscles it almost hurts. He blinks the sleep away and pieces reality back together.

He's in bed. His medic is holding him tight as though his life depended on it, eyes swimming with an urgent need that reminds Mal painfully of Nandi. For a moment he doubts his own assurances to Jayne that the boy is not sly. He also wishes didn't have to be naked to sleep properly. With one hand he gently but firmly pushes Simon away and pulls the sheets tight around his waist with the other.

"Okay, son. _Yi qi shen hu xi_. Slow down. I'm assumin' you've got a real good reason for comin' down here uninvited..." Uninvited was a bad choice of word. Makes it sound like handing out invitations to visit his bunk is something Mal might do. Ignore it. No time for that now. "Wanna tell me what this is about?"

Simon swallows hard and takes a deep breath. Seems to be afraid of saying it, whilst all the while having to.

"It's River. She's gone."

Even half asleep Mal can glower fit to freeze the blood. "Gone? Where? How?"

Simon hangs his head. If his mother had ever hugged him, he would be missing that right now. "I don't know, Mal. She took the spare shuttle."

"_O, zhe zhen shi ge kuai le de jin zhan_!" Mal hisses. "Ain't no point in askin' if she knows how to fly the ruttin' thing, I suppose? No, I thought not. You an' me are goin' to have to have another serious talk once we get her back, Doc..." Mal is about to leap out of bed and into action when he remembers the nakedness issue. "Go get the others."

* * * * *

They're all waiting for him when he gets to the commons. Even Inara, who manages to look serene and alluring despite the hour and the situation. Jayne is toting Vera, keyed up and ready for action. It just worsens Mal's ill humour.

"Put that gorram gun away, Jayne. We ain't gonna be shootin' her."

"Better that than she shoots us," Jayne declares, tightening his grip on his favourite girl.

The penny drops and Mal takes a step towards him, clenching a fist. "What? You got somethin' to be confessin' here Jayne?"

"She's armed," Jayne tells him, all matter-of-fact. "Tried to stop her myself, but she ...." He breaks off as Mal grabs him by the shirt. "Hey! What ya doin'?"

Mal is all but snarling into his face. "Thought I told you to keep your _qing wa cao_ door locked!"

Jayne's lip curls. "It ain't one of my guns she took Mal. It was one of yours."


	8. White Knight Blocks Black Queen

Mal runs a hand through his hair as he paces the kitchen floor, trying to formulate a plan, keenly aware that, as usual in times of trouble, all eyes are on him.

"Okay," he says at last. "Jayne. I need you to track that shuttle down."

Jayne snorts. "Can't track a thing through the black, Mal. Trackin's a planetside thing. Shuttles don't leave tracks...."

"Actually they do," Wash interrupts, surprising everyone, even himself.

Mal looks at him with interest. "What you sayin', Wash?"

"Spacecraft can be tracked using a combination of thermal profiling, void-to-solid ratios and nav sat echo. It's standard military aircraft recognition procedure. And if she hasn't broken atmo, planet way stations will have logged her flight path."

"Really? Well ain't that interestin'."

"Ain't it just, sir." Zoe agrees, scrutinizing her husband's face which suddenly seems a mite unfamiliar. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a slight shift in the way Inara is looking at him too. "But we don't have a thermal profile of the shuttle.."

"Yeah! Yeah, we do. I just ran one." Wash grins, embarrassed to be taking the lead. "There was a bulletin on the Cortex that the Feds were doin' spot checks on ships with autonomous shuttles. Mention of a hefty fine if you couldn't identify your own shuttle. Seems there's been a lot of petty thieves stealing ...."

"Really?" Book asks. "Petty thieves? In this quadrant? Surely not." And he gives Mal one of those looks that might earn anyone else a punch.

The Captain ignores him and turns to Kaylee. "You think you can hack into the way station network? Good girl," he says as she gives him a confident nod. "Okay then, let's find out where River's headin'."

* * * * *

It's been a good few years since Lian Noe's been on a horse. He can't find his seat and his back is aching, so he's real pleased when his guide reins in his own horse and dismounts. Noe does likewise and stands rubbing the knots out of his lower back as he looks around. They've been riding through a dense wood but now they're in a clearing where the trees are more widely spaced. Insects dance in shafts of sunlight and overhead a clear blue sky can be seen.

A crack of branches from behind and to the left catches Noe's attention and he turns to see five men ride slowly up. They stay in the saddle and their leader looks down at Noe, his face impassive but not hostile.

"Consul Noe," the guide speaks up. "This is Lieutenant Maguire."

Maguire nods. "Didn't think you'd come."

"I gave my word, Lieutenant." He pauses to reflect. "Still using your military title, I see. I hope that is not a bad omen for our project..."

The corners of Maguire's mouth tighten a little. "Don't seem right to drop it now, not after I managed to hang onto it during the war... Although that was due more to someone else's courage than my own ..." Noe sees memories flood the man's mind before he can pull himself back to the present. "But let's get down to business. My cabin's a few miles deeper into the wood."

Regretfully Noe remounts his horse and joins the line of men following Maguire.

* * * * *

"So, she ain't doin' the grand tour of the galaxy!" Mal breathes a sigh of relief. "Still somewhere on Brownfields. Well that's not nothin', I guess."

Book has pulled up a planetside map on the Cortex screen. "She's still airborne, but she's headin' in this direction," he tells the Captain, tracing the shuttle's trajectory with his forefinger. "Pretty lonely place. Only habitation marked is ... here." And he brings his finger to rest on a small square on the map.

"Right, let's go get our wayward girl," Mal says decisively. "Think me an' Jayne can handle it between us. The ship is yours Zoe." He turns to Inara. "I'll be needin' the use of your shuttle..."

"Of course," she agrees readily. "I'll get her prepped. If we leave at once ... "

"Whoa! There is no 'we'. You're stayin' here with the others. Don't wanna be puttin' you in the way of danger."

Inara's mouth sets in a firm line. "Am I behind with the rent?"

"No."

"When did you last fly my shuttle?"

He doesn't reply.

"So, if I don't come, you'd actually be putting my business – my home – in the way of danger. I'm sorry but I can't allow that. Particularly as we're going to have to fly fast if we're to catch up with her."

"Suit yourself," Mal sulks. "But you're staying on board when we get there."

Inara gives him a sweet smile. "Anything you say, Captain."

"Mal..." Simon begins.

"No! You're stayin' right here. If anyone's in need of doctorin' when we get back, you'll be no good to me if you're riddled full of holes."

Book steps forward. "I'd like to offer my help, Captain. Picked up a bit of triangulation in my time. Could keep both shuttles under surveillance on the Cortex with a little help from Kaylee."

"Good plan, Shepherd. Okay, Jayne, let's do this."

* * * * *

Book feels tense. There's something troubling about all this that he can't quite identify. A familiar gnawing sensation crawls around his stomach.

"That you rumblin', Shepherd?" Kaylee asks.

"Afraid it was. It bein' Jayne's turn to cook, I di'n't eat much last night and in all the excitement, I don't seem to have had breakfast either."

"Oh, you poor thing!" Kaylee jumps up out of her chair. "I'm gonna fix you somethin' right now. You just stay there."

"Why, thank you Kaylee," he says, but she's already off the bridge and heading for the kitchen.

Once he's sure he's alone, Book flicks the comms switch and punches in an address. Almost immediately, the Abbott's face appears on the flickering blue screen. "Book, my son! You have something to report?"

Book frowns and leans into the microphone, talking in a low whisper. "River's gone missing. She's taken the shuttle. Jayne and the Captain have gone after her, but I'm worried, Father."

"And why would that be, my son?"

"Well, I checked to see whether she'd been in contact with anyone before she left. It doesn't appear so, but she did visit the Blue Sun Corporation site. Why would she do that?"

The Abbott's eyebrows shoot up momentarily but he quickly composes his face back into a genial mask. "Who can understand the workings of a young woman's mind? I'm sure it's nothing sinister. But it might be best to delete the details from the hard drive. We must never forget Reynolds' reputation. It might go badly with her if ... Well, let's not go into that. And what of our other girl?"

"Inara is with the Captain."

Book thinks he detects the Abbott's mouth twist with displeasure, but it could just be the screen's poor resolution because now the old man is saying, "That is good. She will act as a civilizing influence if things should go awry. Contact me again as soon as you have news. Meantime, don't forget to reconfigure your communications log."

Book can hear Kaylee's footsteps coming up the walkway so he quickly kills the comms and goes back to their shuttle surveillance.

* * * * *

"Told you them 'fugees was more trouble'n they're worth," Jayne reminds Mal as they survey the wreckage of the shuttle.

"Well, at least River ain't killed," Mal tells him after a peer inside.

"And how exactly is that a good thing?" the mercenary asks only to be met with a stony glare."Hey! None of this is my fault, remember?" But he decides there's no point arguing with Mal and starts scanning the area, looking for clues as to where River went.

A scrape in the grass, a couple of snapped twigs and a strand of artificial fibre suggest Jayne has found her trail. A single long dark hair snagged on an overhead branch confirms he's right. He sets off covering the ground quickly -almost as if he can smell her – with Mal close behind.

Jayne suddenly holds up a hand, signalling Mal to stop. There are voices, coming from dead ahead. Their constant volume tells the big man their owners are stationary, maybe seated. He looks over to Mal who points silently to something in the middle distance. Jayne follows his gaze and spots them too. Six fellas – one blonder than a two-square hooker - sitting on the porch of a ramshackle old cabin. He moves forward, stealthy as a cat.

Mal's gut tells him River's nearby. He squints against the sunbeams which slant down from the treetops, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the uneven pattern of dark and light. Suddenly he spots her. She too is moving forward, heading for the cabin.

Mal is just thirty feet behind her when she stops. With her back to him, she reaches into the waistband of her skirt and pulls out a gun. Mal's breath catches in his throat as she raises it. She cups her left hand under her right and takes aim. He knows with deadly certainty that she's going to fire, that there's no time to argue with her. Can he cover the distance between them fast enough to grab the weapon?

"Atchooo!" Jayne's sneeze echoes through the forest sending birds into squawking flight.

"Gorram incense! Mal di'n't oughta let Inara use it," he mutters to himself.

At the sound of his voice River whips round, her gun still raised. There's a sickening crack and Jayne goes over like a felled tree. By now Mal has managed to get up behind River but it's too late. Jayne is writhing on the floor, clutching at his chest, groaning and breathing hard. For a fleeting second River meets Mal's eye. There's no sorrow on her face, no apology. She just looks at him calmly and then turns back to the men who have left the porch and are running towards them, rifles at the ready. Mal can't believe it – River is reloading. He spins his own gun round and holding it by the barrel brings the handle down hard on the back of the girl's skull. The pistol flies up and out of her grasp and she crumples to the ground.

"Put yer hands in the air!" orders the bulkiest of the men. Out of options, Mal complies. This is not his best day ever.

The group's leader approaches him, staring at him in disbelief. "Sergeant Reynolds? Is it really you? It can't be! It is!!" And out of the blue, a startled Mal is being hugged and slapped on the back. "I can't believe it. You don't recognize me, do you? Maguire. Lieutenant James Maguire. 'Course the last time you saw me I was fretting over the whereabout of my fingers and toes..."

Battle of Du Khang. Nine years ago now. And a whole lifetime away. Yet here is the shell-shocked lieutenant, alive and breathing. And no longer gibbering. Mal is glad. Then he remembers more pressing matters.

"Have a situation here, Lieutenant, so you'll forgive me for not reminiscin' about old times. This girl here ... well, all you need to know is she's gotta be kept out of Alliance hands. And my man here's shot up real good. Need to get them back to the ship. Sooner would be better than later."

Maguire nods. This man saved his life and reputation. It's a little thing he's asking in return. He looks around in time to see Noe galloping off through the trees and shakes his head. A man sure has to fight harder to win the peace than the war. "My men'll help," he tells Mal. "Sam! Jakey! Need you to do some carryin'."

One of the men summoned seems to have just found something interesting which he stoops down to pick it up. A moan from Jayne distracts Mal's attention long enough to stop him seeing what.

"Think I'm done for Mal. Bessht you get away yourshelf an' leave me here," Jayne slurs, blood loss making him light-headed and irrational.

"No-one's getting' left." Mal tells him flatly. "You ever listen to a word I say?"

Sam lifts Jayne's shoulders and Jakey takes his feet. Mal slings River's limp form over his shoulder. "This way. I think ..."

Returning to the shuttle takes longer than expected, partly because Jayne is an unwieldy load and but mainly because Mal lacks his tracking skills. Every time Mal stops to get his bearings, Sam and Jakey lose their rhythm and Jayne gets another painful jolt. "Tamade! Leave me here to die, Mal. Here's as good a place as any."

Mal gives him a stern look. "If you're tellin' me you ain't got balls enough to withstand a little discomfort, might as well get Simon to cut off what you do have once we get back on Serenity."

"_Ke wu de lao bao jun_!" Jayne manages to spit before passing out.

* * * * *

"The autopilot's on," Inara says, coming back into the shuttle's main room where Jayne is lying still as death on the bed with Mal sitting anxiously at his side. "How's he doing?"

Mal shakes his head. "Not well ... but he's tough. He might make it."

Inara bites her lip and turns her gaze to River. "I should try to make her comfortable at least...." She pours water from a jug into a bowl and soaks a square of cloth, which she applies to the growing bump on the back of the girl's head.

Maybe it's the unexpected gentle touch or the wet cold. Whatever, River's eyes fly open and she starts shrieking. She's on her feet in an instant and raining blows down on Mal's chest. "Ruttin' fool! Save one to lose another. Your math is fallacious. The sum doesn't balance."

Mal grabs her arms. Looks like the crazy's back. "Not now, River. I ain't in the mood," he says coldly. "Wish Jayne had brought those gorram handcuffs of his..." he muses with an involuntary shudder at the thought of what use Jayne puts them to.

"I might have something..." Inara says. She reaches into a drawer and pulls out four short lengths of black silk cord. Mal rolls his eyes. Jayne has handcuffs and Inara a supply of restraints. What is it with his crew? Nonetheless he accepts them and with Inara's help manages to tie River securely to a hard-backed chair.

"_Mei tamade hundan_!" River snarls and she tries in vain to free herself. "Should have let the train reach the station. Now the damsel in distress is tied to the tracks."

Mal shoots her a black look. "_Bizui_! I'll gag you if I have to."

"God, Mal!" Inara whispers. He looks round to see her forefingers on Jayne's throat and her eyes filling with tears. "I think he's dead."

"No. I ain't losin' him." Mal declares, climbing up onto the bed to straddle Jayne. He leans forward from the knees and puts all his weight into pumping Jayne's heart. One, two, three.... seven... fifteen. Inara watches with fascination – awe - as he moves round, pinches the mercenary's nose between thumb and forefinger and places his mouth over Jayne's, forming a seal with his lips. Two deep exhalations and then back to the heart massage. Over and over. Inara is transfixed. It seems to go on forever. Mal driving the blood through Jayne's still heart, breathing life into his lungs. Mal seems to have the knack of forcing life back into hearts that have shut down Inara thinks ruefully. Her breathing has synchronized his and her mouth has fallen open slightly. As Mal lifts his mouth from Jayne's, he's surprised to see Inara gazing unguardedly at his lips.

Then there's a cough and a splutter and they both realize that Jayne is back from the dead. The spell is broken and Inara quickly averts her eyes. Mal rushes to the shuttle's comms. They're nearly there. "Serenity, do you read me? Wash? We're gonna need a stretcher. Get Simon on standby. Shuttle docking in ten ....."

* * * * *

The shuttle's hatch opens just as Zoe and Book arrive with the stretcher. Simon comes running along at full pelt, his face white and taut.

"Is she very badly hurt?" he cries as Mal emerges.

"No, son. It ain't your sis. It's Jayne."

"Not River? Only Jayne? Thank God for that!"

And for the second time that day Mal knocks a Tam to the floor.

* * * * *

"I can't believe you hit her," Simon says coldly, his jaw clenched, as he finishes stitching up the wound on Jayne's chest.

"Don't be mad," River says gently in a sing-song voice. "The King he has four Marys but soon he'll have but three."

"You see what you've done? Just when she was getting lucid again..." Simon is so angry he could punch Mal, regardless of the consequences.

"I'm sure the Cap'n had his reasons...." Kaylee says quickly. She's been assisting Simon as he operated on Jayne, and quite frankly she can't cope with any more unpleasantness just now. "Right, Cap'n?"

"Now's not the time for discussin' it," Mal declares, folding his arms across his chest. "Best you keep River confined to her quarters till I've had time to think on what's to be done," he tells Simon.

"I ought to stay with Jayne..."

"Think he might be better with me. Don't worry, I'll call you if needs be."

Reluctantly Simon takes River by the hand and leads her out of the infirmary.

"You run along too, li'l Kaylee. Think you've seen enough of this room for one day."

Kaylee gives him a weak smile and looks sadly at Jayne's unconscious body. Looks like a battered old teddy bear lying there. "He'll get well again, won't he?"

* * * * *

Mal has been awake for almost forty-eight hours, so it's no surprise to Inara to find him, head slumped forward, leaning against the exam table. But he's not so deeply asleep that he doesn't hear her enter the infirmary.

"Mal, you look awful. Why don't you go and lie down. I'll stay here."

"Can't. Gotta be sure he ain't gonna die ..."

She might have known he'd say that. She walks behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders. "You're awfully tense. These muscles are all knotted up..." It's almost a reflex response to start massaging him. She moves her thumbs in small circles are the base of his neck and across the shoulder blades, deepening the pressure with each rotation.

_Wo de ma_, it feels good! Mal closes his eyes again and leans his head back allowing it to rest against her belly. Her touch is warm and sure and .... A small moan escapes from his lips and he's suddenly embarrassed at how much he's enjoying this. At the direction his blood flow is taking.

"Better stop that, 'Nara," he advises, moving out of her reach. "Don't think I can afford your rates."

The words sting like a slap in the face. "_Ni huang chong_," she hisses under her breath and sweeps angrily out of the room.

Mal sighs heavily and stands up to look at Jayne. Seems impossible a man so strong could be struggling to hold onto life. The wound on his chest is still red and black stitches sprout amongst the gingery hairs. Mal can't bear the thought of losing him. No more than he could bear losing that vicious brute of a dog he kept at home on Shadow. He lays his hand over Jayne heart, taking comfort from the feel of it beating.

Jayne stirs under his palm and opens a curious eye. "You ain't takin' advantage of me being doped up to feel me up, are ya?" he asks with a leer.

A wide grin breaks over Mal's face. "In your sad and lonely dreams."

* * * * *

Back in her shuttle Inara gives herself permission to cry. It's not only Jayne's heart that Mal has worked on. She wishes she didn't love him, but she does. She knows she can never have him, but the knowledge doesn't prevent her from aching for him. Sobs shake through her.

The distancing technique that works so well with her clients is useless against Mal. He has a way of sneaking round her defences. So if emotional distance can't be had, she must have physical distance. She puts all her strength into composing herself, into pushing him out of her head. Then she switches on her Cortex link.

"Inara! I was just thinkin' 'bout you."

"Were you, Monty? I hope you've found me a mission at last. I can't stand another day on this boat."

"My old pal buggin' ya, is he? Never fear. I do have somethin' for ya, but we'll need to discuss it in person. Meet me on Three Hills. How soon can you leave Serenity?"

 

"Right now."

* * * * *

Jayne is out of the woods, Mal is exhausted and yet rest is elusive. Serenity seems noisier than usual. He tosses and turns on his bed, unable to get comfortable. His mind is racing. Jayne nearly died today – indeed did die for a while. Anyone of them could die tomorrow. Nothing's certain. Ought to make the most of living whilst you can ...

Mal abruptly sits bolt upright as the realization hits him. What in the _diyu_ is he playin' at with Inara? True enough, she's a fancy lady, used to better things than he can offer. She may laugh in his face. But she may not .... The love of a good man – well, a man who's okay – ain't nothin'. She might be glad of it.

He pulls on his pants and climbs bare-footed up the ladder from his bunk. Nothing ventured ...

Heart pounding, he mounts the steps to the airlock between Serenity and Inara's shuttle and puts a hand on the door. It's locked. He peers through the glass.

The shuttle has gone.

It's like a recurring nightmare.


	9. Black Queen Retreats, Red Queen Advances

"Could do with some help here, lambie-toes. I know I've had some training in the carrying of heavy objects but these crates are ... well, heavy."

"Shouldn't be carrying anything heavy in my condition, honey."

"Hey! It's me with the hangover, not you. You weren't even drin...." The penny drops. "Oh my God!"

Zoe gives her husband a warm smile and places both hands on his shoulders. She nods her head in reply to the question his eyes are asking.

"You told the Captain?"

"No. You think I'd tell him before you?" There's a note of hurt in her voice, but Wash can't help himself.

He shrugs. "Yeah. No. I dunno. You two've got that old war buddy thing going."

Zoe frowns. "This ain't his baby, Wash. It's yours. Yours and mine."

Wash should be saying how happy he is, how proud. Instead what comes out is "He won't like it."

Zoe shrugs. "Don't suppose he will." But Wash soon will. She's sure of it.

* * * * * *

Mal is glowering into his mug of coffee, watching the bubbles on the surface swirl round. His head feels much the same. Spinning with crazy, fragile hopes and plans that are doomed to vanish painfully. Of course, that might just be the hangover.

Kaylee bounces into the mess, catches sight of him and cries "There you are! Been lookin' for you all over. Just got a wave from Inara askin' where we're heading next." She tilts her head on one side. "I di'n't even know she was gone..?" her inflexion rises turning the remark into a question that Mal ignores. "Seems one of her clients has engaged her for a whole week! Can you imagine that?"

Mal can imagine it only too well. It feels like Niska is twisting a particularly jagged knife around in his heart. He gives Kaylee a sharp look. "I ain't interested in this... You got something important to say?"

She puts her hands defiantly on her hips and glares back. Don't need to be a mind-reading genius to know the Captain's jealous. And too damn proud to admit it. "'Nara needs a rendez-vous point. Shall I tell her Persephone? Ten days' time? Ain't that the agreement with Badger."

"If you know so much, why are you botherin' me with this _fei hua_? Inara's business is none of mine."

Kaylee holds up her hands in mock surrender. "Okay. Shiny." She heads off to the engine room muttering under her breath "Better hope the wind don't change, Cap'n or you'll have that grouchy face forever."

Mal drains his coffee which tastes nearly as bitter as he feels right now. Sure is glad he di'n't make a ruttin' fool of himself by making unwanted declarations of love to his shuttle tenant. Anyway, right now he ain't so certain that he *does* love her. He knows he loves Serenity – she gives him everything he needs and asks for nothin' in return, 'cept fuel and the odd spare part. He knows too that he loves Kaylee because he wants to give her everything and needs nothin' back other than her smile and joy in living. His feelings for Inara are jus' too gorram complicated. He wants to take from and give to her in equal measure. Trouble is he's not sure he's got a right to the one nor resources enough for the other. Best leave it alone. There's pain aplenty in this 'verse. No point in grabbin' more'n your fair share.

* * * * *

Jacob "Jakey" Stone has the look of a man up to no good as he sidles up to the public Cortex link on Main Street. Which is strange, considering how long he's been doing this sort of thing. He casts his eyes up and down the street, reassuring himself that there's no-one around who'd recognize him.

"Mr Stone. Another proposition for me, I gather?" The man on the other end of the line has deactivated his video link so there's a Blue Sun logo on the screen where his face should be but the voice is familiar enough.

Jakey huddles up close to the audio receiver and speaks in a low voice. "Got something from the scene. A weapon."

There's a pause. "Amazing. A weapon. From the scene of an attempted assassination. Who'd have thought it?"

Jakey stares darkly down into the receiver as if he'd like to follow the wires and emerge the other end to strangle the contempt out of that voice. Instead he plays his trump card. "You know who's gun it is, then?"

Another pause. A more respectful one this time. "Enlighten me."

"Malcolm Reynolds'. Even got his initials carved on the handle. Yeah, Malcolm Reynolds, himself. One of them Browncoat war heroes."

"How soon can you get it here?"

"Soon as you like. How much you payin'?"

"Usual rate."

Jakey says nothing. What Parkin says next will tell him all he needs to know about how much the gun is really worth.

"Plus a bonus of, say, fifty percent."

"Double the usual rate," Jakey replies firmly. Oh yeah, it was a good thing the girl shot that other fella. Gave him time to salvage something for himself out of the whole sorry affair.

* * * * *

Kaylee is happy. Very happy. Simon less so. He eyes the blow torch she is wielding nervously. Just one slip and ... well, he could get lit on fire. Which Mal would doubtless find hi-larious.

Simon and the Captain are having another of their many off days. Simon is still seething about Mal knocking the sanity back out of River – whilst trying to forget that sanity for his sister involved her trying to kill people - and Mal is fuming about the damage River did to the shuttle. "Our only shuttle in point of fact," as Mal said, "since Inara don't see fit to warn us before takin' off in hers."

They managed to find the spare shuttle and get it back on Serenity, but it's looking pretty battered. Kaylee declared it was repairable, so Mal told her to get on with it. "And the Doc can help you out. Seein' as this is mostly his fault."

Simon looks at the twisted metal before him in total bewilderment. If Kaylee was impressed at his being a doctor when they first met, he's even more impressed now by the way she knows exactly what to do to restore the shuttle back to health. They've been doing this for two days now and he still isn't sure what he's meant to be doing. All he can do is follow Kaylee's orders and try not to be a hindrance.

At least it's better than watching over Jayne in the infirmary. The mercenary is back to full angry, swearing consciousness although he still needs to rest. The frustration of being stuck in bed is making him even more hostile towards his doctor than ever and every time Simon has to go check on him, he is subject to a torrent of abuse ranging from criticisms about his core-world manners to questions about his masculinity.

All in all, it's better to be here with Kaylee, listening to her hum happily and catching an occasional broad smile. At least she likes him. If only he could .... but he can't. Not just now. River is too needy.

Finally Kaylee puts down her tools and wipes her hands down the front of her overalls. She looks over at Simon and tells him "All done. She's shiny. Fancy a drink?"

Simon hesitates. He doesn't want to go into the mess for fear of running into Mal. Kaylee understands his reluctance. "I've got some wine in the engine room," she says with a twinkle. "We could go hide out there for a while. Jus' the two of us." And she gives him a little wink.

Simon knows he should go see River. Or even Jayne. But he desperately needs some time away from people making demands on him. "Thanks." And he follows Kaylee up the stairs from the cargo bay.

* * * * *

After the heat of the day, the evening brings welcome cool. Rantoong and Parkin have moved out onto the verandah from where they can look down over the lights of Capital City as they sip their mint juleps.

"If Noe weren't such an obdurate optimist the incident might have convinced him the Independents aren't interested in making peace," Rantoong muses as he stirs the sprig of mint around his glass. "But I have it on good authority he's still trying to broker talks."

Parkin gazes up at the sky. "It looks so quiet from here. No-one would ever guess the battles still being waged out there. A thousand thousand terraformed worlds and still men can't work out a way of coexisting peacefully."

"Thank the stars and moons!" Rantoong exclaims, raising his glass. "War keeps fear alive. And fear is envy's cousin as they say. Without war the Corporation would find it hard to turn a profit."

"To war!" Parkin agrees, joining the toast.

For a moment they drink in silence. Then Parkin makes his suggestion. "We have Reynolds' gun. Perhaps he should use it? Or at least, some Browncoat hothead could use it on his behalf. Slaughter the Consul and bring the wrath of the Alliance down on every Independent backwater?"

Rantoong shakes his head. "Pleased as I would be personally to hear of Noe lying in a pool of his own blood, I fear the rest of the 'verse would be profoundly indifferent to his demise. He's too shadowy a figure..."

The hairs on the back of Parkin's neck prickle and he looks at his colleague with interest. "You have a new plan?"

"I think what we need is the death of a high profile Alliance hero. Killed in convincingly cold blood by a Browncoat of some reputation himself."

Rantoong's plan is so delicious Parkin can almost taste it. He licks his lips with his pointy grey tongue. "I'll make the call immediately."

Rantoong holds up a restraining hand. "No need. The wheels were set in motion two days ago. Sit down and finish your drink."

* * * * *

Instead of easing, the dull ache tugging at Inara's heart only gets worse the further she flies from Serenity. It's as if her heart were tied to Mal's with elastic cords that will only stretch so far. She hopes the over-stretching will finally break them and she will be free of him. Sometimes she hates him for having sewn the seeds of hope and desire in her again, for making her feel when all she wanted was to be numb.

She prays that the numbness will return when she has something else to think about. When Monty gives her a mission at long last. But even if it doesn't, at least her days of having to live in close quarters with a man she wants so badly but can never have will be over.

* * * * *

Book scrutinizes Mal's face carefully, trying to gauge the effect his words have had on the Captain.

Mal leans back against the kitchen counter and folds his arms across his chest. He regards Book with something between interest and suspicion. "Well, preacher, that's a hell of a story. Want to shed any light on how you came to think of it?"

Book smiles wearily. "Maybe someday, son. Right now I'd like to be helping River."

Mal is all for that. And for ensuring the girl don't go shooting up any more of his crew.

"Let's say you're right... an' I'm not sayin' you are... but how did she get what'sitted?"

"Triggered."

"Yeah. Triggered. Wou'n't someone need to say the special words to her?"

"I believe they did," Book replies gravely. "I think there was something on that dance music tape Kaylee pl..."

"Whoa!" Mal interrupts, holding up a hand and eyes flashing. "Sure hope you ain't suggestin' Kaylee had anythin' to do with this."

"Not intentionally, no," Book reassures him. "But I'd put money on that tape her father sent her being the trigger. If I were a gambling man."

Mal frowns. "Don't make no sense. How'd they know River would even hear it?"

"I suspect they know a lot more about us than we'd think, Captain."

"You sayin' I got spies on my boat?" Mal asks, taking a step towards the Shepherd. The challenge is clear but Book stands his ground.

"Not spies exactly. But people who are being manipulated..."

"Right. Only one way to be sure about this. Let's go get River and Kaylee."

* * * * *

Kaylee is chewing her lip nervously and twisting the fabric of her overalls between her fingers. She looks pleadingly up at Mal as he pushes the tape into the player. "Ain't there no other way, Cap'n?"

"'Fraid not. Now, you be a good girl Kaylee and start the dancin'."

Simon gives a little snort of disgust. "If you're suggesting I dance whilst you experiment on my sister's brain..."

Mal rounds on him angrily. "I ain't suggestin' anything, Doctor. I'm tellin'. Now gorram dance!"

"I could shoot at his feet," Jayne offers helpfully with a sneer at Simon. "That generally makes 'em dance."

"I imagine it's the only way you could get anyone to dance," Simon spits back. "What with your charming manners..."

"_Ni men dou bizui_!" Mal yells. "And start dancin'. Ma shang."

He presses the play button and everyone begins shuffling about half-heartedly. All except River, who responds to the music with enthusiasm. "Come on, Kaylee," she pleads, trying to whirl her friend around. "Faster! No power in the 'verse, remember?"

Zoe and Wash manage to make a fairly convincing show of enjoying themselves as they dance and even Kaylee is smiling at River's graceful light-footedness. Despite having the choice of two partners – Book and Simon – Mal's expression is grim and he never takes his eyes from River. For a long time nothing happens but then the music reaches the part where the rhythm accelerates and just as before River collapses. Simon wants to take her to the infirmary but Mal holds him back. Everyone waits in silence as the spasms shaking River's body build and finally cease.

"Sorry," she says with a shy smile after she has recovered. "I think I need a drink. You carry on with the party – I'll be back soon." And she heads for the stairs.

As planned Mal and Book follow her and Simon will not accept Mal's orders to stay where he is. Time is of the essence, so there is no argument. Just a glower that promises retribution later.

Up the stairs, along the walkways and up onto the bridge, River seems oblivious to her retinue. All the crew are following her now. She sits down in the pilot's chair and switches on the Cortex link. Her fingers move over the keys rapidly as she stares intently at the screen. A flicker and the Blue Sun logo appears. Mal and Book exchange a significant look.

River begins to wail, pounding the control panel with clenched fists. "There should be something here. A path to follow. A meaning. But there's nothing but the Black. None of it means a gorram thing!" And she dissolves into tears, calling out for Simon. He's beside her in a heartbeat, holding her, stroking her hair and making soothing noises. But her sobs increase and she starts vomiting. Simon grits his teeth and glares at Mal. "I told you it was a dangerous thing to attempt, you _qing wa cao de liu mang_."

"Uh-huh," Mal responds dismissively. "When you're done cussin' you'd better take your sis back to her quarters."

River struggles free of Simon's embrace and walks over to the Captain. Staring him straight in the eye, she shakes her head sadly. Then she places her forefinger on his lips and whispers "Mary is the little lamb. But careful! Here come the wolves!!!"

Mal is just about to point out to Simon that River is back to her unusual self when she suddenly announces "Dans l'antre du renard, il y a une poule de luxe."

"_Shen me_?" Mal asks.

Simon shakes his head."It sounds like one of the old languages from Earth-that-was. Something about a fox and a chicken."

"Hooker. A fox and a hooker." Book corrects him automatically.

"A hooker? Where?" Jayne asks hopefully.

Mal frowns. Preacher seems to know about every damn thing. "Looks like you were right, Shepherd," he says thoughtfully. "Gorram Alliance turned River into an assassin. Care to tell us how you knew?" Book says nothing. "Is this whole crew full of secrets? Anyone else got anythin' they like to share?"

Kaylee raises timid hand. "Inara sent a wave to save she'd be back day after tomorrow."

Zoe gives a little cough. "I'm pregnant, Sir."

Mal looks like he's been punched. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tellin' you now, Sir."

"No. Before. Why wasn't I consulted? Asked?"

"Wasn't looking for your permission, Sir," Zoe replies coolly.

* * * * *

Inara swallows hard. This is not the mission she wanted. She wanted something that would take her to the other end of the galaxy. Away from Mal. But no. She has to go back to Serenity and ... _Yesu tamade_, she's not sure she can do it.

Monty leans forwards across the desk and looks at her closely. "You ain't gonna turn down your first chance to serve the cause, are ya?" His expression is balanced between disbelief and contempt.

"No, no. Not at all." Inara takes a deep breath. "I'll do it. I'm just a little surprised."

Monty gives her a toothy grin. "That's the girl." He stands up and shakes her hand. "You'll be restorin' a man to his former glory, remember."

Inara nods her assent and leaves with a heavy heart and head-spinning at the prospect of what she has to do.

Monty is still gazing after her when from behind him comes a soft sultry voice. "Must say I'm impressed husband. You played her perfectly."

"I was taught by a master, Bridget." He turns and takes his wife's hands in his.

She flutters her eyelashes daintily and gives him a slow wide-eyed smile. "I've never forgotten Malcolm Reynolds' sickening little homily about having people with him, 'people who trust each other, who do for each other without always looking for the advantage'. He's got this coming to him. And as for Inara – well, I must admit I'm enjoying playin' her. It has a kind of poetry to it, her being the one to destroy his life. And the rest of the crew's. Almost wish I could be there to watch that happy family fall apart."


	10. Red Queen to Black Rook

Inara is beginning to show. There's an undeniable curve to her belly and a ripe heaviness to her breasts. Given her line of work, some men might question their part in such a development. But Mal doesn't. Not even for a second. He knows this child is his.

For some reason she's wearing a pair of Kaylee's old overalls this morning and there's not a scrap of makeup on her perfect face. To Mal she's never been more beautiful. Her hair falls forward as she leans over the sink, sunlight picking out strands of copper and red. In the distance he can hear birdsong.

He comes up behind her, sliding both hands round her waist and then forwards and down over her hip bones. A thrill goes through him as she gives a little gasp of anticipation. Her whole body seems to melt under his hands and for a moment he allows himself to delight in the intensity of her response to his touch. He always dreams it will be like this.

She leans back against him, letting his shoulder cushion her head. The weight on his collar bone has an overwhelming rightness to it. With one hand he gently pushes her head forward, lifting the hair from her neck so that he can feather the nape with light kisses and as he fans out the fingers of his other hand to push her hard up against him, he feels the flesh beneath his hand tighten as deeper muscles flutter and contract. Inara's breathing quickens and her pelvis tilts up to meet his fingers.

"Oh God, Inara," he moans, hard and aching for her. "I want...."

She twists round in his arms so that they are face to face. There's no Guild-trained artifice in the look she gives him. Only need, desire and love. She reaches up to twist his hair around her fingers and pulls him down into a long hungry kiss that instead of satisfying leaves them even more ravenous for each other.

"I want you to bed me, Mal," she says, her voice ragged with passion.

"Guess I mean to, " he manages to reply.

How they got to his bunk he doesn't know, but suddenly they're here. He lays her down on the bed and gazes at her entranced, unable to believe the 'verse has been so good to him. Her clothes have dissolved away, as have his own. He lies down beside her and traces a forefinger over her parted lips, down her throat and between her breasts. His pulse is pounding and his blood burning like fire through his veins. All he can think of is plunging into the sweet, wet heat of her ...

"We'll be landing on Persephone in about an hour, Sir," Zoe's voice crackles over the ship's comms. "Should we hail Inara now?"

Mal wakes with a start feeling all manner of sweaty and compliant. The agony of unquenched lust cramps like bruising from a mule's kick.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, Sir," Zoe's voice again. "Didn't realize you were sleepin'. You did say to let you know when we were makin' planetfall."

Mal clenches his fists and jaw as he tries to force his blood back up into his brain by sheer effort of will. "Yeah. It's okay.. Inara? No. Wait till she contacts us. Don't wanna interrupt her at work." And there's a bitter emphasis on that last word.

* * * * *  
Inara checks the dials on the control panel again despite the fact she's flying on auto. It's a displacement activity, intended to take her mind off what Monty has asked her to do.

It doesn't work.

So she gets up from the pilot's chair and goes into the main room of the shuttle. Taking a deep breath she pulls open the bedside table drawer and takes out the box. A squeeze on the catch and it flips open, revealing the serum-filled syringe within. A shiver goes down her spine.

She had always believed the serum to be poison, pure and simple. But now she knows it is an antidote. A neutralizing chemical confection that will break down the implant in Wash's brain. Once administered, it will work quickly to flush out the false memories given to him at the Independent hospital where he was taken after his plane was shot down. It may bring back long forgotten trauma but it will make him the man he once was again – the Browncoat hero needed to rally his fellow Independents in the fight against corrupt Alliance rule.

Monty is relying on her and she herself swore a sacred oath of vengeance. So Inara can't allow herself to think about what his metamorphosis will do to the balance of Wash's marriage. Or about how his transformation will affect Mal's life. Nor what Mal will think of her when the deed is done. No, especially not that. She can only concentrate on the bigger picture and try to convince herself she will be doing the right thing.

* * * * *

The past is weighing mighty heavy on Book's shoulders this morning. The incident with River has brought it flooding back and the tide is too strong to be diverted. Book's hands tighten around his leather-clad Bible and he closes his eyes in prayer.

He became a Shepherd because once he was a wolf. And better acquainted with the writings of the warrior-poet than Simon realized. Back then he hunted down his quarry with a relentless skill that would have amazed and chilled even Jayne. Oh yes, he hunted them down and tore them apart. Slowly. Although he took no pleasure in it – other than the satisfaction of knowing he was serving a higher cause - he would hold them over the volcano. All those girls. Like chickens roasting on a spit.

He knows there must be a special level of hell reserved for him and that nothing he can do in this life will save him from its fires. All he hopes for now is that his eternal torment will be tempered by the knowledge that in the evening of his life he tried to do good.

He takes a deep, cleansing breath and blows it out slowly, opening his eyes. One day at a time. He will watch over Inara as asked. But he will also watch over River and Kaylee too. And even Zoe. There is no greater a protector than a poacher turned game-keeper.

* * * * *

The mystery surrounding Book is really beginning to niggle at the back of Mal's mind. Well, more like the front of it. Waiting has never suited Mal's character and there's an abundance of it today. Waiting for Inara to return. Waiting for evening to come around because Badger claims to be too busy to meet earlier. Jayne was sleeping when Mal checked in on him and Simon has pulled a disappearing act. Probably with Kaylee and River. Wash and Zoe are holed up in their bunk, doubtless arguing over babies names or some such nonsense. Serenity is awful quiet today and quiet breeds thinking.

Mal considers what he knows about the Shepherd. Man sure is handy with a weapon an' ain't easily intimidated. Got the air of someone used to command. Also knows more about government experiments on young girls' brains than a man of the cloth ought to. An' of course there's the little matter of how one flash of his ID card had the Feds scuttlin' to rush him to hospital.

Why hasn't Mal tackled him about all this before? In part because having Book around suits him, religiosity notwithstanding. But it's also because delving into people's pasts isn't something Mal is comfortable with. He doesn't want to ask about their history because he doesn't want to have to disclose his own. Prefers to keep all that pain and loss bottled up, lid nailed firmly down. Only way for a man who's seen what Mal has to stay sane. Besides, who's to say a man will tell you the truth about himself? Mal has always believed you learn more about people from what they don't tell you than from what they do. He figures it's best to hang on to your suspicions. Because that way there's less chance of being blind-sided.

* * * * *

That evening Wash is waiting for Mal down in the cargo bag. At the sound of his footfall on the metal walkway overhead Wash squares his shoulders and puffs out his chest ever so slightly. Small movements but the change in his posture does not go unnoticed.

Mal descends the stairs quickly and asks sharply "Where's Zoe?" without any indication he knows he and his pilot are heading for a confrontation.

"She's not feeling well," Wash replies avoiding eye contact. "Thought I should come along instead."

There's a clatter above them and Zoe appears, fastening her gunbelt and looking a bit dishevelled. "Sorry to be late, Sir," she calls down. "Won't happen again."

Mal looks hard at Wash, raising his eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

"She's tired," he tells him adding an insolent "Sir" just a little too late. "Tired and queasy. Pregnancy does that to a woman. It's late. She needs to rest."

"I do not."

"Yes. Yes you do." Wash shoots her a pleading glance. "For your own sake and the baby's. Anyway this is a ridiculous time for a meeting."

"Okay," Mal interrupts impatiently. "You know the drill. When we're dealin' with Badger, Zoe comes with me. That's jus' the way it is."

Wash shakes his head. "You don't need her just for a chat with Badger," he declares. Mal's eyes narrow but he carries on arguing anyway. "We've been getting on great with him for months now. How many jobs has he put our way? Four? Five? And we've been paid every single time. Call me crazy but that looks like a pretty solid business relationship to me."

Zoe is shaking her head at her husband's naivety and the corners of Mal's mouth tighten into a sneer. "See? That's exactly why I don't want you with me. Badger is a psychotic low-life and we can never trust him. Never. Specially when he's got us thinkin' things between us are smooth."

Wash's eyebrows fly up in alarm. "So you're saying this meeting could be dangerous?" Mal nods. "Oh well that's all right then! You go right ahead and put my wife and unborn child in the way of danger! A brilliant plan. Sir."

Mal's patience has run out and he rolls his eyes at Zoe. "You ready?" he asks starting to make for the cargo ramp.

"No! No she's not!" Wash cries, blocking his path. "For God's sake, Mal – she's pregnant."

"Yeah and whose gorram fault is that?" the Captain demands angrily and pushes him roughly aside with one hand as he strides off. Zoe keeps her eyes on the floor as she follows on behind.

* * * * *.

Badger settles himself into one of the private upper level booths – paid for by his employer – and gets ready to enjoy the show. There's a big, gilt-framed mirror on the wall opposite him which affords a clear view of the saloon below. Yes, it should be quite some show. What was it Parkin said? "It's time to remind the 'verse of Malcolm Reynolds' continued existence. Not to mention his political allegiance." The self-satisfied grin on Badger's face widens. Handing over so much money to that pretentious _houzi de pigu_ during the past few months has really gone against the grain. Even if it wasn't Badger's own money. But tonight he will get the chance to claim some of it back. With interest.

* * * * *

Zoe is more than a mite uneasy in this place. All very well the Cap'n saying this part of town is respectable enough. Only need to look at the décor to see what side of the political divide the bar's clientele is on. Behind the bartender there's an impressive display of Alliance military equipment, including one of the infamous electronic neck collars they used on prisoners of war after the surrender. Zoe can still remember what being almost garrotted with one felt like. The bright brittle smile Mal blinks away as he catches her eye tell her he does too. Well, at least it's not U Day, she tells herself. Less likelihood of the Cap'n doing something stupid.

Zoe takes a seat and Mal heads off to the bar, trying to look inconspicuous. And failing. He's near enough the tallest man in the room and there's an aura about him that attracts attention. Zoe smiles to herself. Yeah, Mal always turns heads. It's been a long time since the sight of him set her own heart a-fluttering, but there's more than one girl eyeing him with interest tonight. Though as usual Mal don't see it.

He's just picking up their drinks when the woman next to him speaks. "Evenin'. Ain't seen you in here before."

"Probably cuz it's my first time." No-one does curt quite like Mal. But then he actually looks at her. Diminutive. All sea-green eyes and tousled blond curls. And curves. Lots of curves. Mal swallows as she takes a step closer.

"First time, eh? Better be gentle with you then," she smiles knowingly up at him through long thick lashes. "You got a name? I'm Jessie," and she extends her hand, forcing Mal to put the glasses back down on the counter so that he can shake it.

"Malcolm," he tells her. The way that she's looking at him is gorram disconcerting. He runs a finger around the inside of his collar.

"Well, Malcolm, I must say you're a fine-lookin' man."

Mal shuffles his feet, part-embarrassed, part-flattered.

"An' you have the prettiest eyes I ever did see." She says it likes it's a statement of fact, not needing of an answer. Which is just as well as Mal can think of nothing to say. He ain't used to this kind of open appreciation. Only woman he wants to tell him his eyes are pretty is usually filling his ears with sharp words as to his character.

"Would you like to buy me a drink?" she purrs, wide-eyed and lovely. Across the other side of the room Zoe may not be able to hear the conversation but she can see the Captain turning to putty. Like he tends to when thinking with his _zhan dou de yi kuai rou_. Zoe wonders if she should go rescue him.

Mal hesitates and the girl continues "Or would you like to buy me?"

He doesn't bother trying not laugh in her face. At her audacity. At his own stupidity. "No thanks. Not much interested in ruttin' whores."

Then everything happens in a rush. The girl slaps Mal hard across the face and he catches her arm as she tries for a second blow. Twists it up behind her and whispers into her ear, "Now missy, I never hit a lady first. But you ain't exactly safe on either score, are ya?" Next thing the Captain is flat on his back, having been punched in the ear by a big burly fella who appeared out of nowhere.

"No-one touches my woman!" he yells down at Mal, bringing his foot back to kick the Captain hard in the ribs. Mal winces, sure he felt something crack. As the man attempts to slam his boot into his head, Mal manages to grab an ankle and pull him to the floor. They struggle, rolling over, crashing into tables and sending folk scattering from their path.

Badger abandons the anonymity of his booth and leans over the balcony railing, all but salivating with glee. If Malcolm Reynolds is getting a beating, he wants to enjoy every last punch of it.

But somehow Mal is on his feet, bleeding from one nostril and holding his side. His opponent is up too and they circle each other menacingly. The sound of the door opening distracts his assailant just long enough to allow Mal to drive a fist into his jaw with an audible crunch. The man goes over, leaving Mal panting and in pain but relieved.

Not for long. Two federal agents seem to have materialized out of thin air, and they seize him by the arms. "Resist arrest if you want to, you browncoat piss ant," one of them sneers as they frog-march him towards the door. "You just laid out my old CO, so breaking your arm would make my day."

Well ain't this jus' typical of Mal's luck? Nothin' ever goes smooth. He spots Zoe, hand on her holster, making her way forward to intercept his captors and orders her to stand down with a steely glare.

She falls into step behind the Captain as the Feds drag him out into the street and off in the direction of the town jail. "Put your foot in it again, Sir?" she asks conversationally.

"Wa'n't what I said," Mal tells her over his shoulder. "It's what I am. Want to know what the real problem is, Zoe? I am jus' too damn pretty."

She meets his eye, poker-faced. "If you say so, Sir."

* * * * *

The serendipity of finding Wash alone with a half-empty flagon of Rim-made cider is not lost on Inara. It's as though all the planets in the 'verse were lining up, showing her where her duty lies. Even if that duty is not entirely palatable. She briefly wonders if consumption of alcohol might impair the antidote's effectiveness but pushes the thought quickly aside. If she doesn't do this thing tonight, she may never work up the nerve again.

"AashhalovelyNara," Wash slurs, waving his glass in greeting.

Inara favours him with one of her warm, indulgent smiles and sits next to him on the sofa. "Drinking alone, Wash?" She has to be certain. "Is everything all right?"

He starts to shake his head but the effect on his vision is pretty catastrophic. "No, th'others were here fra while. 'Cept Mal and my wife, of coursh." He slumps forward, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. "Out on a job."

"This late?" Inara asks sympathetically. "You must be concerned. Didn't the others think you might like company?" Her Companion training allows her to be outwardly empathetic whilst in her mind she's rehearsing what she needs to do. She slides a hand into the folds of her scarlet gown. The syringe is there and ready.

Wash's mouth twists into a sulk.

"No. River..River shtarted screamin' 'bout snares'n gamekeepers. Got real crazy. Shimon had to dope her. Kaylee wen' with 'em."

Five out of the way. Two to account for. "And Jayne? I can't imagine him missing out on the chance for a drink or two," Inara says with a tinkling little laugh.

"Got into an argument with Book about ... shomething. Dunno what. Shepherd went to bed. Think Jayne may've gone in town looking for .. whasshecallit? .. a bit of trim." And with that Wash slides back so that he's half-sitting, half-lying.

So, it's just the two of them. The ideal opportunity. The only question for Inara is how it's to be done. She wonders how long she has.

"What time are you expecting Zoe and the Captain back?"

Wash frowns. "Gui if I know. They don' tell me. I'm only the husband. You know shomething, 'Nara?"

"What?"

"My wife doeshn't reshpect me. Not like she does Mal. Can you imagshin' wha's like when the person you love doeshn't reshpect you?"

"It must be terrible," she replies seriously, as if she herself has no personal experience of what it feels like.

"It is!!" Wash shouts. "Jus' cuz I wasn't in the ruttin' war. Those two an' that war buddy shtuff really infumigate me. No, really. They jus' can't let it go. Shtill wearin' the ruttin' uniforms. An' everyone knows how conshtrictin' they are. Di'n't wear mine most of the time, even durin' the war." Inara's ears prick up although Wash appears not to have registered what just came out of his mouth."An' there's that thing round her neck. You know what that is? Only a shymbol of her gorram bond with Mal. Her _qing wa cao de_ hero. He's her hero, Inara. How can I ever compete with that?"

Inara toys with the idea of telling him exactly how he can not only compete but win this type of macho pissing contest but, before she can say a word, Wash gives a little snort and keels over sideways, unconscious.

There's no time to waste. Inara withdraws the syringe from her sleeve and takes hold of Wash's right arm, turning it over to expose the blue veins lacing the inside of his elbow. Holding him tight by the forearm, she touches the needle against his skin and moves her thumb to the top of the plunger.

A metallic click makes her realize how silent the room has been. "What the hell're ya doin'?" a gravelly voice demands. Inara turns slowly to see Jayne has a pistol cocked and trained on her. His expression conveys bewilderment and a certain amount of danger.

* * * * *

After Mal is flung into a cell, the sheriff tells Zoe she might as well go home. "Your man won't be released until it's decided whether he'll have to face charges."

Reluctantly Zoe admits to herself that there's nothing she can do tonight and decides she'd better head back to the ship and try to soothe Wash's wounded ego. She's striding determinedly along when a voice calls out: "'ang on a minute there, little girl!"

Zoe looks down with distaste at Badger's hand gripping her arm. She shakes herself loose and gives him a stony stare.

"Wha's all this then? That _yu ben de_ Captain of yours got himself into trouble again?"

Zoe quirks a suspicious eyebrow. "And you'd know that how?"

"Only all over the gorram Cortex news channel. 'Ow'd they put it? "Browncoat malcontent assaults Alliance war vet's wife in small town bar." Yeah, that was it."

Zoe folds her arms and tips her head to one side. "An' you believe that, do you?"

Badger snorts out a laugh. "Don't matter what I believe. 'S'what the punters believe tha' matters." He pauses. "I'm afraid we have ourselves a problem."

Zoe says nothing. Just waits, much to Badger's annoyance.

"Not sure I can do business with the likes of you. I got me reputation to think of."

"Dare say you have at that."

This _niu shi_ attitude of Reynolds' second-in-command is beginning to rile Badger. Enough that he'd tell her the job is off, it were down to him. Unfortunately Parkin wants Reynolds on Xenos and Badger has to get him there. Still....

"News says bail has been set at five hundred square," Badger tells her and is pleased to see concern flicker across her face. "You got that kind of coin?"

Zoe glares at him. "You know we don't."

He steps forward and pats her on the arm. "Well, s'lucky I'm a generous man. Tell you what. I'll stand the Captain's bail and we'll deduct it from your earnings from the job. Plus five per cent."

Zoe would like to spit in his eye but she knows she's cornered.

"No need to thank me. You jus' make sure you collect the goods from this warehouse"- and he slips a piece of paper into her hand - "tomorrow, first light. Oh don't worry. It's all legit. Well nearly. Slightly substandard food supplements for the settlers out on Xenos. Got to be there by this time next week. Think you can handle it?"

"If you get the Captain released."

Badger flashes his sharp little teeth at her and touches the rim of his bowler hat with a finger. "Pleasure to do business with you."

The hand he holds out to her remains unshaken.

* * * * *

For the longest time Jayne and Inara stare at each other, frozen. Then Inara lets go of Wash's arm and slowly turns to face the mercenary.

"Please, Jayne..."

The big man shakes his head. Better not to let her speak. Once she starts talking she'll tie him up in knots, make him disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes. She'll try to convince him that she ain't trying to kill Wash. That she ain't betraying the Captain. Well, if jabbing a gorram needle into Wash ain't betrayal, Jayne doesn't know what is.

His mind is racing. This is worse than what he did on Ariel, he's sure of it. Back then, the Doc and his moon-brained sis was only newcomers to the crew. Wash – well, he's like Mal's brother-in-law. Not to mention Zoe's husband. Jayne wou'n't wanna be Inara when Zoe finds out about this.

"Please. Jayne," Inara repeats.

Jayne's not sure Zoe should ever find out. It's sure to put her in a killin' mood. Then there'll be all manner of unpleasantness on Serenity. No, don't let Zoe find out. What about Mal? Should Jayne even tell him about this? He stares at Inara as he tries to decide.

His scrutiny is more than Inara can bear. She knows now that she will never be able to complete this mission. It was too much to ask of her. She wishes it were possible to turn back time, to not be at this point. Then she fast-forwards in her mind to when Jayne has told Mal everything and Mal is yelling at her to get the hell off his boat. Calling her a dirty whore. A tear slides down her cheek before she can stop it.

"Think maybe you should leave before the others get back," Jayne says slowly. "You stay and there's bound to be trouble."

Defeated, Inara nods. "I'll need a few things..."

"Ten minutes. No more."

Inara goes to her shuttle and packs everything of value that she can carry. A couple of bags, that's all. She puts the syringe and its box back into the drawer and turns the key. Then she returns to the commons where Jayne is waiting for her, grim-faced.

He almost changes his mind when he sees the sorrow in her eyes. "Don't tell Mal," she begs. "Don't tell him what I ... Please."

Jayne grunts. "I ain't gonna tell him. More for his sake than yours." Because Jayne knows how the Captain feels about this woman, even though he tries to conceal it.

"Thank you." Inara says quietly, before picking up her bags and descending the ramp out into the night.

* * * * *

Sleep comes surprisingly easy to Mal tonight, despite the hardness of the bed in this cell. Perhaps it's the familiarity of the harsh conditions. All he has to do is close his eyes and ....

Inara is smiling up at him as he cups a hand under her breast and rolls a nipple between thumb and forefinger. She nuzzles into him and runs her tongue along his jaw and up behind his earlobe. His hand moves down over her belly and her legs fall open easily as he slides a hand in between them.

"Now, Mal," she urges him, voice husky with desire. "I want you in me now."

He moves his fingers slowly and feels a jolt go through her like an electric shock. Absurdly - inappropriately - memories of Niska come flooding back. Electric shocks. Penetrating knives. Hooks and barbs. More than that. Worse. Isolation, agony and fear.

"I'm afraid," he whispers into Inara's hair. "Afraid of hurting the baby. Of hurting you."

The barbs of her laugh snag in his ear. "It's a bit late for that..."

And suddenly he's standing up and looking down at her and she's staring back at him out of punch-blackened eyes. She tries to smile but the bruising around her mouth turns it into a lopsided grimace and blood seeps from a cut on her lip ...

Mal leaps up from the bed, sickened and disoriented. It takes him a few seconds to remember where he is.

Then he presses his sweating brow against the cold, damp cell wall and prays for morning to come.


	11. Bishop Defends Black Knight

It's hardly what she's used to, but Inara feels pathetically grateful for this cheap hotel room at the Eavesdown Docks. At least she doesn't have to wander the streets, trying to ward off sexual advances from drunks, madmen and worse until dawn's light sweeps the streets clean of the trash generated by Alliance rule.

She is grateful too that Monty took the news of her failure with such good grace. She could tell he was disappointed in her despite his best efforts not to let it show. When she apologized, he reciprocated, blaming himself for having expected too much of her on his very first mission. Said he shouldn't have asked her to deceive her friends. The loneliness that welled up at mention of her friends prompted Inara to relate how Jayne had forced her off Serenity. Monty's mood instantly changed to one of anger and concern. He told her she must make her way back to his stronghold immediately so that she could be taken care of.

She looks at the alarm clock beside the lumpy bed. Four hours till sunrise, five till she can catch a ship heading to Three Hills. She should try to rest even if she can't sleep so she opens one of her bags, and digs around inside for a nightgown. As she pulls it out something clatters to the floor.

The sight of the ridiculous wobble-headed doll all but breaks her heart. Hurting too much for tears, she lifts it up from the floor and presses it to her lips.

* * * * *

Between them Jayne and Book haul the last of the long wooden cases up the cargo bag, biceps flexed tight under the strain and sweat trickling down their faces. They've been at this for half an hour, working in silent harmony.

Simon feels jealous. Wishes he had Book's knack of fitting in. Or Jayne's of not caring. The fear that he will always have to watch his step around this crew - always have to apologize for his very existence - is surfacing again when Kaylee skips up beside him. "Hi, Simon. Zoe just sent a wave sayin' she an' the Cap'n'll be back in time for breakfast. Wanna help me make somethin' special? To cheer the Cap'n up after being sprung from jail?" Her eyes sparkle as she flutters her hands like a bird taking flight.

Sometimes he finds her a bit overwhelming but this morning Kaylee is a safe haven and Simon is glad to follow her up to the kitchen.

Out of the corner of his eye Book is watching Jayne carefully. The mercenary is unusually quiet today. Normally he would be cursing the weight of the cargo or bragging about how the ease of the task. Book knows there's something on his mind and can't help but worry that Jayne is still brooding about their argument.

"Jayne," he begins, his tone carefully neutral. "Hope you're not imaging last night was all your fault."

The big man jumps as though Book had spattered him with hot oil. His eyes dart wildly from side to side and the muscles in his jaw and neck twitch. "What the hell d'ya mean?" he finally spits. "Wa'n't my fault at all. Anyone says it was'll get..."

"No-one's saying that," Book soothes. "But tempers did get a little heated. Unkind words were exchanged. I may have been a little hasty..."

Suddenly Jayne guffaws with laughter. "Gorramit, preacher! I ain't worried about your beliefs on punishment. Even if they are all wrong. Eye for an eye, that's the only justice worth a damn. My Daddy taught me that."

Book tucks his chin into his neck and shakes his head in surprise. "So? We're good?"

"Hell, yes, preacher!" Jayne laughs, slapping him so hard between the shoulders Book has to struggle not to lose his balance.

* * * * *

"You notice how this whole gorram town's starin' at me, Zoe?" a freshly-bailed Mal asks looking from left to right and then over his shoulder. He's right. Every single local is gawping at him. "Don't suppose it's cos I really am that pretty...." His voice tails off as Zoe pulls a face.

"Think it's more that you were on every Cortex news channel last night, Sir," she tells him bluntly. Maybe even a bit angrily. "An' this mornin' you're on every bulletin. See for yourself." And she points to the electronic news stand where Mal sees his own face scowling out at him.

He stops in front of the glass panel and quickly scans the article. "Well this here is a load of ruttin' lies!" he fumes. "What in the_ diyu_ do they mean "Browncoat extremist"? I ain't no ..." He breaks off as another item catches his attention. Down in the right-hand corner there's a photo of a very blond man. The headline above it reads "Consul Noe to visit garrison on Xenos."

Mal crouches down to get a better view of the face. Yup. It's that same fella all right. He lets out an anxious sigh.

"Something wrong, Sir?"

"Most like there is. Kinda strange the way our path and the Consul here's keep crossin'. Noticed that shiny head of his in the post office on Demeter. Had the look of Alliance top brass about him. An' I'm pretty sure he was amongst the gang Maguire was with on Brownfields when River got all gun-crazed and homicidal. Now he's headin' for Xenos. Our business relationship with Badger's gettin' a bit of an odour to it, wou'n't you say?"

Zoe bites her lower lip thoughtfully. "Think he's playin' us, Sir?"

Mal nods grimly. "Sure of it. Less sure what his game is."

"Can't really back out of the deal, Sir." Zoe reminds the Captain. "We don't go to Xenos, he'll be entitled to go to law and get the ship impounded till we pay back your bail money."

"Oh, I'm all aware of that," Mal agrees. "We'll jus' have to walk soft and keep our wits about us."

* * * * *

Kaylee's eyes light up as Mal enters the mess. "Welcome home, Cap'n!" she greets him with a fierce hug that makes him flinch.

"Careful there, Kaylee," he gasps, pressing a hand to his ribcage. "Found myself on the wrong end of a boot last night."

"I should take a look at that for you." Simon steps forward automatically, only to draw back a little as he meets Mal's penetrating stare. For a moment everything else seems to drop away as the Captain and his medic look at each other. Then Mal breaks the tension with the quick flash of a smile.

"No need, Doc. I'll live. Jus' need folk to be a little gentle with me a day or two." Kaylee pulls out his chair at the head of the table and pushes it under him as he sits down. "No need for you to be nurse-maidin' me," he complains, even as he thanks her with a squeeze of the hand. He turns back to Simon. "Your sister doin' any better? You takin' good care of her?"

Simon is just about to reply when River pushes past him and approaches the Captain. Placing one arm around his shoulders, she slips onto his lap and gives him a tender smile. "No two-by-two. Captain's blue." Before he knows what is happening, she takes Mal's face gently between her hands and presses her lips to his. Kaylee eyes pop open wide. She gives a little squeal and claps her hands over her mouth, looking from one face to another, trying to assess the rest of the crew's reaction.

Mal himself is so startled his mouth falls open and quick as a flash River's tongue darts in, sliding over and under his. Then one hand is cupping the back of his head, fingers twisting in his hair, pushing him closer as her kiss becomes more ferocious and her other hand slips under the fabric of his shirt where it is unbuttoned at the neck. No-one speaks. They scarcely even breathe.

Eventually Mal overcomes his surprise and gently but firmly extricates himself from River's embrace. There's a touch of red on his cheeks and his eyes flashing as he turns on Simon.

"Don't jus' stand there, boy! Do somethin'. You can't keep her under control, Doctor, I'll dump the pair of you on Xenos!" Mal is angry. Partly because of the assault on his dignity, but mostly because ... because, well, girl seemed to know jus' exactly how he wants to be kissed. _Diyu_ if she didn't push all his buttons at once. For a moment there.... And that was all manner of creepifyin'.

River's eyes have a far away look even though she is staring at Mal. "Been there. Seen it. I know."

Yet again Simon has to drag River away. Her protests can be heard all the way down the corridor. "Two by two, Simon. Each one a mate. Doctor's no good without medicine."

Mal gazes after them and shakes his head ruefully. "Well, craziness notwithstandin', we need to get in the air before noon if we're to make Xenos on schedule." He looks around at his crew, checking them off one by one. "Inara get back okay?" he asks Kaylee.

"I ain't seen her..."

"Think I may have seen her," Wash says, frowning with the effort of trying to remember through his pounding headache.

"Yes dear, but you were sure you'd seen Luke Skywalker last night," Zoe chides him gently. "Not sure my husband's a reliable witness, Sir. Too much ..."

"Inara was definitely here last night," Jayne interrupts. "Saw her go off to her shuttle with my own eyes." And he crosses his arms as if defying any one to say different. Book is the only one to pick up on the needlessly defensive stance.

"That's good." Mal feels relieved, thankful that this last client wasn't the one to tempt Inara away from Serenity for good. "We ready for take off after breakfast, Wash?"

From the bottom of his heart, and the pit of his stomach, Wash wishes the Captain hadn't mentioned food.

* * * * *

"Problem, sweetie?"

"That don't begin to cover it. Parkin ain't gonna be at all pleased. We're dead, you and me both, if we don't clear this mess up."

"Don't sweat it, hubby. I'll tidy away this little problem for you. Think of it as my wifely duty. Besides, it'll give me the chance to even things out between Mal an' me. Not to mention Inara. Do you know she had the nerve to tell me I looked horrific last time we met? Well, I figure she'll look pretty horrific too when I've finished with her."

Monty stares at his wife. He's not going to ask her what she means. Doesn't want it on his conscience. Keeping the war going, hanging on to his little scrap of power is one thing. Wet work's another.

Saffron gives him a beguiling smile. "She'll never see it coming."

* * * * *

Simon stiffens as Mal enters the infirmary. The Captain has a way of filling a room, so that you can't get away from him, even if you wanted to. All Simon can do is brace himself for one of their "personal chats."

"Captain," he says warily. "What can I do for you?"

There's a long pause whilst Mal considers. Then he strides over to the exam table and sits down, unbuttoning his shirt. "Guess I could do with a bit of patchin' up after all, Doc. Wanna be prepared for whatever's waitin' for us on Xenos."

"You don't think we'll run into trouble, do you?" Simon asks, running expert fingers over Mal's ribs until he finds the breaks. For a body that's suffered all that Mal's has, the skin is surprisingly smooth. But then again, for all he's been through, Mal really isn't that old. Scarcely ten years older than his doctor.

Simon takes a roll of bandaging from a drawer and lifts Mal's arm out slightly to the side so that he can start winding it tight around him.

Mal gives a short laugh and looks his Doctor in the eye. "How long you been on this boat, son? You not noticed how we always manage to run into trouble?"

Simon pushes away his anxiety and continues with his task.

When he's finished Mal asks, almost conversationally, "River not here?"

"No, I ... I gave her something to help her sleep. Mal..." his hand flutters up to his mouth. "I'm sorry about what she ... I don't know what ..."

"It's all right, Simon. I ain't sayin' I want it to happen again, but there's worse things in the 'verse than bein' kissed by a pretty girl," Mal interrupts with a grin before sauntering out of the infirmary.

Simon watches him go, not at all sure he wants to know that Mal thinks his sister is pretty. And not at all sure why it bothers him.

* * * * *

"Di'n't you have enough of a work out with them crates, preacher?" Jayne yells down into the cargo bay when he catches sight of Book on the weight-lifting bench down below.

"Not nearly!" Book calls back up to him, adding straight-faced, "Though I can see how you might have found it tiring."

Jayne is down the stairway in a trice. He picks up a towel and stands behind the shepherd. "Oughta know by now you should have someone to spot you," he mutters.

Book doesn't reply, just continues with his reps. It feels good that things between him and Jayne are right again.

"You lifted the weight all wrong." Jayne looks round to see River tiptoe-ing barefoot towards him. "Chased away the dream."

"Huh? Whadya..." River comes up real close, standing inches away from him. She taps his chest with two fingers. "What's in here's not all rotten. Just misguided, operating under misapprehensions and out of ignorance."

"I ain't ignorant," Jayne hisses, his hands balling into fists. Why does everyone assume he's stupid?

Book gets up from the bench, worried Jayne may snap.

"River, sweetheart, would you like me to take you back to Simon?"

She ignores him as she tries again to make Jayne understand what to her is clear as day.

"Made it worse to make it better. Jayne," her voice drops to a whisper. "I know what you did."

"_Chou wangba dan_!" Jayne explodes, striking River hard across the cheek with the back of his hand. Ruttin' mind-readin' freak! The blow knocks her screaming to the floor.

"Jayne! Leave it!" Book orders, his voice resonant with sudden authority. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

Jayne stands stock still, breathing hard whilst the shepherd kneels down at River's side. "It's okay, River. He won't do it again, I promise. Let me get you back to your brother."

River allows herself to be helped back onto her feet. She looks sadly at Jayne.

"I know what you did. I understand. He won't." Panic fills her eyes and she turns to the shepherd. "Make him tell you. Find the words to stop the axe from falling."

"Of course," Book comforts her. "Now let's get you upstairs."

* * * * *

"Whadya want?" Jayne growls in response to the tentative knock on the door of his bunk.

"Brought you some lunch," Book replies. "Real food. Can I come in."

"If you have to," Jayne sulks.

Book descends the ladder and puts a tray loaded with bread and cheeses and a bowl of meaty-looking soup onto a table. He stands quietly and waits for Jayne to speak.

"_Tian xiao de_, Preacher, spit it out!"

"I regard you as a friend, Jayne," Book begins. "So please understand I am asking this out of friendship – you know what River was talking about, don't you."

Jayne grunts. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Oh, I think you do. And I think it has something to do with the Captain. Something you've done that he won't like. You seemed a bit ... uneasy ... about Inara's whereabouts last night. Is it something to do with her?"

Jayne kicks at the leg of a chair a couple of times before puffing out a sigh. "Well, you ain't wrong, Preacher." It's a relief to be able to get it off his chest. Get another man's perspective on the situation. Books listens intently as Jayne tells him all about Inara and Wash and the needle. When Jayne is finished, he lays a hand on the mercenary's shoulder.

"Think you did right, son. She couldn't stay after that. No saying how the Captain would have reacted. Best we keep it from him." Book's first instinct is to protect Inara from the Captain's inevitable wrath. At least until they know for sure whether she really was trying to murder Wash. Book has been around long enough to know things are not always what they seem.

"I told him she was on board. Well. Good as." Jayne hangs his head. "Mal's gonna shove me out the airlock when he finds out she ain't."

"Surely not," Book tries to reassure him. "Let me handle this. There's someone I need to contact. I'll use the Cortex screen in Inara's shuttle. You keep watch, make sure no-one disturbs me."  
* * * * *  
Parkin storms into Rantoong's office, his face livid with fury. "Gorram, ruttin' whore let us down!" he declares, slamming a fist down on the heavy oak desk. "Bitch let us down!"

Rantoong strokes the leather armpads of his chair reflectively. "Well, that's unfortunate," he agrees at last. "But not exactly the end of the 'verse."

Parkin stares at him in disbelief. "You're not even the slightest bit annoyed? I thought you were relying on the high profile murder of an Alliance hero to stir up a bit of profit-generating universal hatred?"

"I never rely on anything, Parkin. Call me a pessimist, but I always like to have more than one iron in the fire. And whilst I must admit I was hoping that Reynolds might put a bullet through his pilot's skull once he discovered his true identity, it was never a foregone conclusion. Flexibility, that's the key to a good plan."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now do cheer up. Looking at your miserable face is putting me off my gin. That little bar-room brawl did wonders for endorsing Reynolds' rebellious credentials. When he gets caught gun-running on Xenos, no-one is going to be surprised. Doubt they'll even bother putting him on trial." Rantoong chuckles wickedly into his drink. "Be swinging from a gallows before you know it."

* * * * *

It's late in the PM six days later when they touch down near the rendez-vous point on Xenos. The sky is low and overcast and the breeze is picking up, snatching dust from the dirt-track up into little twisting clouds. Jayne, Zoe and Mal descend the ramp on the loaded mule.

"_Zhu yi_!" Wash shouts after them. Watch your back. And watch that new – well, second-hand – mule. Don't go settin' it on fire this trip. If Wash worries about the mule maybe he won't have to worry about his wife or the baby.

After a mile or so, it begins to rain. Jayne starts to cuss. "Ta ma de! __!"

Mal shoots him a withering look. "It's only a spot of rain, Jayne."

"Not the rain. That." Jayne points to the crossroads ahead of them.

Hanging by the neck from a rope, the decaying body of a man twists in the wind, silhouetted black against the silver grey sky.

"Seems like a nice planet, Sir," Zoe remarks dryly as they pass underneath. "Pretty strong on law and order."

Mal looks up at the body. Dangling from the feet at about eye-level there's a board bearing the words "Double-crossing _hundan_."

Oh yes. This job is bound to go smooth.


	12. En Prise

"Who'd've thought it, Sir?" Zoe asks as Jayne hangs over the side of the mule retching loudly. "Jayne having such a delicate stomach?"

"'S gorram barbaric!" Jayne protests, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Leaving a man to rot like that."

Mal gives a little snort of astonishment. "Thought you was all for rough justice, Jayne?"

Jayne shifts in his seat and avoids the Captain's eye. "Yeah. But when a man's had his punishment, things should move on. Forgive and forget. He shou'n't be hung out to dry." He's thinking back to Ariel and the extra hold it's given Mal over him ever since.

And the Captain knows it. "Hope you ain't sayin' I've been hangin' you..."

"I ain't sayin' nothin'," Jayne replies hastily. Best not let Zoe in on their nasty little secret. "I'm jus' sayin'..."

Mal gives him the same uncomprehending stare he often uses on River. "Well, I'm glad you've made that clear." Then he turns to Zoe. "An' how're you doin'? Dead bodies never made you sick before but now you're..." He hesitates. Almost like it's indelicate of him to mention Zoe's pregnancy. "You know, I'm surprised that husband of yours agreed to let you come on this job."

Zoe looks at him calmly. "We came to an understandin', Sir."

The corner of Mal's mouth lifts in amusement. "I bet ya did! I do believe you have that man completely under your thumb."

Zoe tosses her hair over her shoulder and she straightens her leather waistcoat. "It's not like that, Sir. Marriage is a partnership, not a chain of command."

"Which is exactly why it wou'n't suit me. Can you imagine me always worryin' about keepin' a woman sweet?"

Zoe doesn't even blink. "And how is Inara after her last job, Sir? Must have been real tired when she got back, cos I ain't seen hide nor hair of her. A whole week companioning! Must take it out of you."

Mal grits his teeth. "I ain't seen her either. Think she's avoidin' me."

"What did you say this time, Sir?"

"Nothin'!" he exclaims indignantly. "I said nothin'. Why does everyone always assume it's my fault?"

"'S not fair," Jayne sympathizes, bitterly regretting having tried to save Mal's feelings by not telling him what Inara did and how he threw her off the ship. The waiting for Mal to find out is excruciating. He looks back at the twisting corpse and swallows hard.

* * * * *

Kaylee and River are in River's bunk dressing each other's hair. At the moment Kaylee is braiding River's into lots of small plaits and finishing them off with different coloured beads. River wears a distant expression as if trying to hear faraway music.

"River," Kaylee begins hesitantly. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," her friend replies in a sing-song voice.

"Sorry. Shou'n't have asked. Oughta _guan wo ziji de shi_," Kaylee says quickly.

"You want to know." River's voice has a kindly tone. "What is was like. Kissing him."

Kaylee blushes and nods.

River pauses as if trying to remember every tiny detail. "Nice," she says at last. "The Captain tastes nice. Bitter and sweet." The she turns wide, almost fearful eyes on Kaylee. "But sharp teeth, Kaylee. And so hungry. Enough to devour us both."

"And do you... you know... like him? Like him like that?"

"Like him? Yes. Love him. Not *in love* though. My brother. Seen the same things. Want to help him." Kaylee's eyes are wide and uncomprehending but she's hanging onto River's every word. The girl suddenly laughs and pokes Kaylee with a forefinger. "You want to kiss him too!" she teases.

"Me?! Lord, no!!" Kaylee squeals shaking her head. Then under River's scrutiny concedes "Well, OK. Maybe a little. But he's the Cap'n...."

"River. Time for your meds." From the doorway Simon's voice is hard. The light in his eyes is cold. How long has he been in the hall way? Has he overheard their conversation? Kaylee squirms with embarrassment. Would like to tell the Doctor she mostly thinks of kissing him these days. But he's so tight and brittle as he takes River's hand anything she might say evaporates on her tongue.

* * * *

This is the first time that Jakey Stone has ever been off-world and, truth to tell, he's disappointed. Always thought Brownfields was a bit of a crappy backwater and envied the rich and glamourous lifestyles folk lived on other planets. Now he knows lifestyles like that are reserved for people living on Core planets. Most of the 'verse is as badly terraformed and poorly run as his own world. An' Xenos is worse still. Never did see such barren land, such underfed animals. Not exactly a holiday destination.

But then again, Jakey ain't here on holiday. Thank the Lord. He's got one little job to do. Then he gets a bit fat paycheck from Parkin. Big enough to take a vacation somewhere rich and fanciful if he chooses.

He runs a blue-gloved hand over the side pocket of his pants. Still there. Well, strictly speaking, back there again. He slips a hand inside the pocket and along the barrel of Malcolm Reynolds' pistol. Wonders if its owner misses it, if he even realizes it's gone. One thing he sure don't know, Jakey tells himself with a grin, is that he – Malcolm Reynolds – is about to use it to assassinate Consul Noe.

Jakey looks up and across the garrison parade ground where Alliance soldiers are rehearsing for the official ceremony. The podium from which Noe will make his speech is easy to see, draped as it is with the Alliance flag. Jakey points to it with a forefinger, using the knuckles as sights. An easy shot. A kid could do it.

* * * * *

Inara is astonished – and more than a little appalled – at the way her control is crumbling. There was a time when even her weakness for Mal was easy to conceal. Now her heart is beating so hard she can hear it thumping in her ears and her palms feel damp. Sweaty even. All those years of training. All those years as a Registered Companion. Has it really come to this?

A month ago she would have found it easy to compel the two men standing before her to do her bidding. Now she has to content herself with waiting patiently until they allow her into Monty's tent. They're openly appraising her, casting lascivious eyes up and down her body as if she might actually be available to them! The gall of it would be amusing if it weren't so upsetting.

Finally there's a grunted order from behind the thick canvas walls and they stand aside, releasing wafts of body odour so thick they seem to coat the inside of her nostrils and cling to her tongue. One of them lays a meaty hand on her back and gives her a little shove through the doorway.

Inside it's cool and dark. The air smells damp and musty. Monty strides over to her and wraps her in a bear hug. She's so relieved, she's close to tears.

"Inara! At long last. You all right, girl? Terrible business this. Sit down. You look exhausted. Let me get you a drink. Got some beer round here somewhere ... but I could do with somethin' stronger. You take a whisky with me?"

Inara nods and takes the glass he hands her. The golden liquid trickles down her throat like smoke and fire. She sighs. "Thank you, Monty. It's very... very..." But something's wrong. She blinks and screws up her eyes as the room starts to sway. There's an odd sensation on her lips. "Oh you stupid...." she scolds herself before falling forwards out of the chair and onto the earthen floor.

Monty drains his glass and spits onto the ground beside her. "Bridget!" he shouts. But there's no need because Saffron is already emerging from behind the screen where she has been hiding waiting for this moment.

"Practically snared herself, stupid piece of crap!" she sneers as she regards the prone body, bending down to check Inara really is unconscious.

"Now, Bridget," Monty warns. "Don't let yer feelin's run away with you. You got smarts. Use 'em. We need to know how much the mercenary knows. How much he may have told Mal. Or any of 'em. She's no good to us dead."

Saffron looks up at him and flutters her eyelids. "It's OK, sweetheart. It's not like I'm new to this. I know what I'm doing."

* * * * *

The parade ground spotlights make Lian Noe's platinum hair shine like a beacon. If Jakey Stone were a religious man, he'd think God were showing him His divine approval. As it is, he's just happy to have an illuminated target. Should make it even easier to get a clean shot.

Jakey adjusts his position and gets more comfortable. He's lying on a mossy hillock at the edge of a small wood, in which he will hide after the shooting. And where he will leave Reynolds' gun. Somewhere it can be easily found.

A round of applause and the Consul has begun his speech which means the time has come. Resting on his elbows, Jakey takes aim. Gorramit but these blue gloves are distracting! Concentrate man. Forget the gloves. You have to wear them to preserve Reynolds' fingerprints on the weapon and to prevent leaving any of your own. Take aim. Squeeze the trigger slowly. Slowly now ....

Noe has staggered backwards, a spray of red has arched against the whitewashed walls and soldiers have started running before Jakey hears the crack of the shot or the screams of the crowd.

Next thing he knows there's cold metal pressing into the base of his skull and he's dead before he can hear the second shot.

Reynolds gun is carefully removed from his hand and tossed into the woods. Then Jakey is sealed inside a black body bag and dragged the quarter of a mile to where the short-range shuttle is parked out of sight.

* * * * *

Inara stirs as she regains consciousness. It feels as if she has been asleep for days. She tries to stretch and finds her hands are taped to the armrests of her chair. An attempt to stand confirms the fear that her legs are similarly restrained. As she opens her eyes a familiar halo of red hair comes into focus.

"Hello, sleepyhead," Saffron coos, tilting her head from side to side in that cute-little-girl way of hers and smiling her sharp-toothed little smile. "Long time no see."

Inara glares at her but doesn't reply.

Saffron pulls up a chair next to her. "Well, now, isn't this nice. You and me together again. Jus' like old times."

"Save it," Inara snaps. "What do you want with me, you _jian huo_?"

Saffron leaps up again and slams her hands down over Inara's wrists. She leans in towards her, blue eyes dark with anger and looking like she might spit in her eye. Then she suddenly smiles again and plants a long kiss on the Companion's lips.

"Oh don't fret, hon," she says, performing a triumphant little pirouette as she dances away. "No drugs this time. I need you awake for this."

The distancing technique has many layers. The first is to find your core. Focus all your thoughts on the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. Feel the breath. Be it.

Inara inhales deeply and tries to concentrate. How did she get from Monty's office to this place? And what is Saffron doing here? She looks around. Canvas walls, that same damp, musty smell. This is Monty's headquarters. So why is she a prisoner? Did Saffron drug Monty too?

Saffron is watching her carefully. _Zhen mei nai xing de Fozu_! Inara remembers the girl is Academy trained and that she too can read people's thoughts. Distance. Breathe. Be nothing but your essence.

"OK, boys. Time to get this show on the road," Saffron declares as if to an audience. Inara looks over her shoulder into the leering faces of Monty's guards.

* * * * *

The grain store is the settlement's largest building and stands apart from the others in a parched field. It's imposing, but old and in a poor state of repair. Mal signals to Jayne to go check it out. The mercenary draws a gun and approaches. He leans his shoulder against the door with more force than is needed because it's unlocked and gives way easily, making Jayne stumble forward a few steps. With a quick glance back at the others, he disappears inside. A few minutes later he re-emerges and gives Mal the thumbs up.

Zoe keeps watch whilst Mal and Jayne unload the mule and lug the crates into the store. They're as heavy as Jayne remembers and heavier than Mal had been expecting.

The store is poorly stocked. Mal thinks back to his Momma's ranch on Shadow. At this time of year they always aimed to have the barns crammed to the ceiling in preparation for the winter. This one is almost empty. In one corner there's a small mound of grain that the mould is already attacking. Apart from that, nothing. For once working for Badger doesn't seem like an entirely shameful thing. These folk sure need the food supplements they've brought, even if they ain't of the best quality.

The sound of voices from outside grows steadily louder until the door opens again and a dozen or so men enter. They're thin, but wiry, muscles hardened from long toil and a hard life.

Three men detach themselves from the group and walk forward. Brothers by the look of them. The oldest looks from Mal to Jayne and back again. "You Malcolm Reynolds?"

"I am. You Angus Powell?"

He is answered with a firm handshake and a slap on the arm. "Glad to see you, friend. You're mos' welcome. As you can see ..." he gestures for them to look around them ".. it's been a bad year for farmin'. You ha'n'ta come an' I'm thinkin' winter woulda been a good season the gravediggers." He turns to one of his brothers and holds out a hand into which is dropped a jangling canvas bag. "Here's your money, friend. Take it with our thanks."

Mal weighs the bag in his hand. Should he count out the coin? Wou'n't be the first time they've been cheated. Then again, these folk have a direct, honest way of speaking he warms to. Counting the money'd look gorram rude.

Mal decides a bit of mutual mistrust might be more acceptable. "The goods are over there, ready for inspection," he says pointing to the crates.

Powell grunts. "Don't normally bother with that. Prefer to rely on folks' word."

"No wonder you're livin' like this then!" Jayne exclaims before he can stop himself. Mal glares at him to shut up but the mercenary has a point to make. Feels the need to educate these sorry _sha guas_ in the ways of the 'verse. "You can't be trustin' every _hundan_ comes your way..."

Powell shakes him head. "It's just our way, friend. We like to give folk the benefit of the doubt."

Jayne rolls his eyes impatiently and clicks his tongue in disbelief. "Then every pirate in the gorram galaxy is gonna take advantage..."

"Jayne." Mal's voice is quiet but it has that tone which promises a reckoning if not heeded.

Zoe ain't happy. She has a bad feeling about this place that makes her want to take to her heels. She tries to communicate the desirability of an early departure to Mal by flicking her eyes towards the door but Powell is making his way over to the crates. He looks at Mal. "Guess I should respect your ways too..." he says, forcing the crate open with a small length of iron bar he's been carrying in a pocket. He kicks the lid up, revealing a layer of straw packing.

Clearly fascinated by the novelty of this way of doing business the other villagers gather round the crates. Some help Powell remove the straw. Then someone gasps and someone else swears. The circle unpeels and Powell demands "What in the ruttin' hell is this?"

Zoe gives Mal a searching look but he shrugs and shakes his head. "Is there a problem?"

"A problem? You tryin' to be funny?" And the man invites him to look into the crate with a wave of a calloused hand.

"Ta ma de," Mal breathes. "Gorram Badger, that _qing wa cao de liumang_!" Because the crates are filled not with food supplements but rifles.

Jayne might consider this a trade-up in terms of what the villagers were expecting but they clearly do not. The open, friendly expressions they had been wearing have been replaced with grim scowls. Eyebrows knit and jaw muscles twitch.

Mal, Jayne and Zoe find themselves seized by the arms and Powell lifts a rifle from the crate. He points it at Mal and says slowly "I don't know what your game is, you ruttin' _yi dui rou_ ... Or maybe I do. You Alliance? Rebels? You tryin' to set us up? Last village caught with firearms was burnt to the ground for plottin' rebellion. Every man, woman and child roasted to death. Well, that ain't gonna happen here. Fraser!"

The younger of the three brothers already knows what is being asked of him. He runs across the barn and comes back holding a length of rope.

"Hold him!" Powell commands and the hands gripping Mal's arms tighten. Jayne struggles against his captors but more hands seize him and his efforts are in vain. Zoe stands tall and still, resisting attempts to move her aside but not fighting.

"Let us go, you crazy sonofabitch," Jayne snarls, twisting and wrenching against the restraining hands. "He'da meant to kill us Mal, he'da shot us by now."

Angus Powell says nothing. Simply turns the rifle round and brings the butt down hard into the side of Jayne's head, knocking the mercenary out cold. Then he watches as Fraser fashions the rope into a noose. The younger man hands it to his brother who is breathing hard with suppressed anger. "You gotta God, I suggest you start prayin' to Him," he tells Mal as he forces the loop over his head and gives it a little yank to tighten it round his neck.

The rough fibres irritate Mal's skin. "Look, friend, can't we be reasonable about this? You're right – we have been set up. You and us both. There's no need for killin'...."

"An' I say there is," Powell spits with an aggressive thrust of his face into Mal's.

"My crew ain't a part of this..." Mal begins, his instinct to protect his people for the moment distracting him from the danger to his own life. "Let them..."

Powell silences him with a punch to the mouth. Mal reels backwards but his captors stop him from falling. He tastes blood in his mouth and suddenly the situation loses its dream-like quality and becomes all too real.

"Out here on the Rim, reputation's everythin'," Powell tells him. "Your man there spoke the truth. There's many a thievin' _wangba dan_'d take advantage of us if they thought they could get away with it. So they have to know they won't. Which means we gotta make examples of you. All of you. Use you as a warnin' to others. String him up!"

Mal finds himself being half-pushed, half-dragged into the centre of the barn where a ladder leads up to an overhead beam. Holding one end of the rope in his hand, Fraser starts to mount the ladder.

"No!" Mal hardly recognizes his own voice. "You have to let her ..." he indicates Zoe with a tilt of the head, "You have to let her go. She's preg... She's having a baby." And as his eyes meet Zoe's he finally accepts it. Welcomes it. Loves her even more for it. "Please, please don't .. I beg ..." He can't finish.

This ain't the first time Zoe's heard Mal plead - plead for her, for himself – but that don't make it any easier to bear. She know it means he's given up hope and that scares her.

A silence descends and everyone falls still as the villagers try to process this information. Even Fraser stops climbing. Then a low murmuring starts, gradually growing louder as the men discuss what's to be done. Angus Powell speaks with one man, then another and another. Finally he announces their decision.

"We ain't monsters. There'll be no murdering of babies here." He turns to Zoe. "You're free to go."

The men holding her let go of her arms, but Zoe stands her ground. "Prefer to stay," she says tersely.

"Go," Mal whispers. His eyes are beginning to shine with tears. He's afraid like he's never been afraid before. Not even in the war. Then death seemed inevitable and yet avoidable at the same time. There was always hope that the bullet wouldn't find you, that the seeker would miss its target. And sometimes Mal yearned for death, for the oblivion that would wipe out all the pain and loss and guilt. And not just during the war ...

The death that's staring him in the face now is pointless and inescapable. If it weren't so pitiful, it might almost be funny. After all those years of being empty inside, he's at last starting to have things to live for. With all his heart he wants to see Simon find a cure for his sister, wants to see Kaylee find the man of her dreams and be there to grumble about how he's not good enough for her. He aches to see Zoe's child, hold it in his arms, hear it bawl with rage and hunger for life. And Inara ... a kiss. One kiss would be enough.

But none of that can be. Soon the breath is going to be choked out of him by his inexpert hangman's badly knotted noose. He wonders how long it will take to die. And then panic snatches at his throat. Already he is gasping for air, struggling with limbs weak with terror against this unjust fate. His heart shudders in his chest. A salt flush fills his mouth, the muscles at the back of his tongue tighten and he's afraid he will vomit. Then his bowels start to churn and he fears a worse disgrace.

"Go," he tells Zoe again, tears rolling down his cheeks unchecked now, wetting the crimson of his shirt. "Please."

She presses her lips together and bites the inside of her mouth as if that pain might blot out the agony ripping at her soul. She holds Mal's gaze and fingers the leather knot around her own neck. Their bond. She will not leave him until death parts them. He should know that.

"She can stay if she must," Angus Powell tells his supporters. "But we've delayed enough. Justice must be swift, sayeth the Lord. Fraser!"

And Fraser resumes his ascent of the ladder.

* * * * *

The body is an imperfect shell whose destruction should hold no dread for the enlightened soul. The stories nerve endings tell of pleasure and pain are lies, ephemera. In the vastness of eternity the physical world is a mere blink of an eye. Only the spirit endures.

Pleasure. Inara has known little real pleasure and even that was snatched prematurely away. But pain is her familiar.

"You're quite a woman, Inara Serra," Saffron tells her, not without admiration, as she gently slips a hand under Inara's. "You've been very noble. And for what? Mal? Let's not delude ourselves, darlin' – he doesn't love you cos he doesn't respect you. Never will. Not even after this.... After this he won't even wanna bed you. Face it, you do look pretty horrific."

Inara could speak if she wanted. Even with all the bruising. But she does not want to.

Saffron lets out an impatient sigh. "Let's try again. What did you tell Jayne about the serum?" She slides her hand sideways, separating Inara's little finger from the rest with a hook of the thumb. She wraps her own fingers tight round it and as she pushes it sharply backwards there's a loud crack. "Who else knows about it?"


	13. Fianchetto

Alone in his bunk, Shepherd Book is sitting on his bed. His hands are clasped together, forefingers pressed against his lips. Eyes closed and brow furrowed, he looks for all the world like a preacher at prayer. However, his thoughts are of a decidedly un-religious nature. Sinful even. And mortally sinful at that.

Experience shapes the way we see the world. A history of violence makes a man sensitive to the threat of it. Likewise a life full of lies and deceit gives him a sixth sense where trickery is concerned. Book's past is a patchwork of violence and deception, each used in the service of the other. Which is why he is surprised it has taken him so long to see the truth. But then again, there are none so blind as those who won't see. Who don't want to see.

Book decides it's high time he did see. He stands up briskly, purposefully, and exits his bunk, heading once again for the Cortex screen in Inara's shuttle.

-"We must never forget Reynolds' reputation. It might go badly with her if ... Well, let's not go into that."- The Abbott's words bounce around the inside of the Preacher's skull as he switches on the link. Only now the words don't sound like those of a good, pious man. They sound like they were carefully selected to exploit Book's own sense of guilt about the past. To feed on and into his prejudices.

The Shepherd remembers the way the old man repeatedly brought up Reynolds' reputation for violence when trying to persuade Book to take this mission and the way he hinted at misogyny and a delight in cruelty. Book had no difficulty in believing Malcolm Reynolds could be such a man: he had been one himself.

His face twists into a sneer of self-disgust. He'd been so quick to judge the Captain. Temere non iudicandum. Lest you yourself be judged.

He types in his code and does a quick search of the file the Alliance holds on Mal. The real one, not the official version for public consumption. He has to swallow back his revulsion at what the man has suffered and at the suffering he's inflicted on others. But none of it goes beyond the commonplace atrocities of battle and captivity. The Captain may not be a saint, but he's no devil either.

Book scrolls down through page after page. Nothing about torture. Well, not about resorting to it himself. Nothing about ....

The final page comes as a surprise. A recent update, less that 24 hours old. "Malcolm Reynolds is the prime suspect in relation to the murder of High Consul Lian Noe on Xenos yesterday. The discovery of a weapon links him directly to the Consul's death. Reynolds' vessel has been logged by way stations on three different planets at the same time as Noe's transport. There are unconfirmed reports that Reynolds may be trading in firearms. Federal agents on Xenos are currently looking for Reynolds for help with their enquiries."

A curse word would certainly be appropriate, but there is more comfort to be derived from several. "_He chu sheng he za jiao de zang huo_!"

* * * * *

In the kitchen it's Wash's turn to cook. He sets about the task half-heartedly. To cook well, you need a good appetite and Wash has none when Zoe's out on a job. Even the aroma of real food fails to get his mouth watering.

The same cannot be said of Kaylee. "Ooh, Wash!" she exclaims, sniffing the air appreciatively as she enters the room. "That smells real good." She goes over to the sink and begins scrubbing the grease from her hands. "When're we eatin'? Are we waitin' for the others to come back?" she wheedles with a smile designed to persuade him this would be A Bad Plan.

"No," Wash says resignedly. "Zoe said we should go on without them. Might take some time to find the settlement and make contact. At least this way we're spared Jayne's table manners. Here, help yourself. Don't think it's too bad." He pastes on a grin as he passes the serving spoon to her, but the look in his eyes is bleak. "Ah, more customers!" he cries maintaining his false cheer as Simon and River appear.

"Don't want any. Yellow is for cowards," River says looking into the pan.

"Just try some," Simon urges, filling a bowl for her.

"I've been slaving over a hot stove all evening, River" Wash points out. "You don't wanna hurt my feelings do you?"

River pushes the bowl Simon is pressing on her away. "Fed up already. Got plenty inside me. Too much. Full to bursting." She jabs a finger into Wash's abdomen. "Like you. Too much we can't digest."

"Hey! That's all muscle!" the pilot protests, sucking in his stomach. "I am a muscular man."

Kaylee's eyes close in rapture as the taste of creamy cheese melts on her tongue. Been so long since they've had dairy. "Mmmm," she breathes and takes another mouthful. "It's good, River. Corn and cheese and onions."

"Don't want to get lost in the maze. And onions make you cry," River pouts sulkily.

."She's not wrong there. Should have seen me earlier. Crying like a girl, I was," Wash can't help but grin. "Though they are good for that blood thinning thing. Thin blood - why is that a good?"

"Blood," River whispers and sinks down into a chair. She pulls her knees to her chest and starts rocking slowly backwards and forwards. "Onion. Member of the allium family. Consumption of which lowers cholesterol levels and thus the risk of clotting. Circulation must be maintained," she declaims. "ABC. Airways, breathing, circulation. Airways..." her voice begins to rise. "Breathing! Simon! I can't breathe, Simon!!" And then she's clawing at her throat and fighting for breath.

"River,_mei-mei_, listen to me. You're okay. It's just a panic attack. It'll pass." Kaylee has risen instinctively from her chair and is now standing awkwardly alongside Simon, not knowing what to do to help. "I'll just get something to calm her. River, I'll be right back. Kaylee will be here with you..." But River isn't listening. Her eyes are huge and terrified, her mouth open in a silent scream.

Kaylee takes her hands and gives them a gentle squeeze. "It's okay, River. It's okay."

River eyes bore into hers as if she is trying to sift through her thoughts, to reach a part of Kaylee that will understand. "No. Not okay. Needs kissing now."

Goosebumps chill Kaylee's back and arms. This riddle is too easy to solve, though she wishes it weren't. "The Cap'n?" she asks fearfully. River nods. "The Cap'n's in trouble?"

* * * * *

Fraser Powell throws the rope over the beam and slides back down the ladder. Meanwhile his younger brother has caught the loose end and is dragging on it, trying to pull Mal's body up into the air. But Mal is too heavy for him. Besides, the Captain has crumpled to the floor. Whether that's because his legs have given way or because he's still fighting for his life, Zoe cannot be sure.

Fraser and Angus Powell catch hold of the rope too and start walking slowly backwards, heaving Mal into a standing position.

Zoe can't help him, can't save him. All she can do is be there. Not look away. Hold him with her eyes. Let all the love and respect, friendship and admiration she feels for him flow out and into him. Let him know that his life may not mean a gorram thing to him but it's the centre of her own. She will be strong, will not look away.

And she will not cry.

It's the hardest thing she has ever had to do.

* * * * *

"Oughta jus' block off the exits and torch the bastards," one young fed tells his colleague as they descend from the armoured vehicle outside the looming barn. "That's what they did at the Jiutan Settlement. Best way to deal with gun-runners and rebels."

"Wilson!" Commander Harken's voice cuts through the other man's laughter of agreement. "I will not tolerate talk like that from men under my command. We will follow procedure to the letter," he says with a look that makes his underling jump to attention. "To the letter. Dong ma?"

"Yes, sir!" the private salutes him.

"Fletcher," Harken says quietly, turning on the other young man. "Perhaps you would explain why to your comrade."

Fletcher looks confused. "Because it's regulations, sir!" he finally says, also saluting smartly.

Harken sniffs and looks the pair up and down with disdain. Not so long ago he was commanding an Alliance cruiser. Now he's nurse-maiding greenhorns through their first tours of duty carrying out routine tasks. Acting on information received. He's tried to persuade top brass that he's fully recovered from his breakdown but they keep postponing his return to transgalactic duty pending psychiatric assessment. He suspects not everyone believes his account of what happened on that gorram Firefly. Fears that some amongst the upper echelons still regard tales of Reavers as mere superstition.

"No, private. It's because rules and regulations are what differentiate civilization from barbarism. If we disregard the law, we might as well give in to the darkness. Become it. Now, go do your duty."

Wilson and Fletcher catch up with the other men just as they are entering the barn.

"Federal Marshals! Don't anybody move! By the authority of the Union of Allied Planets you are bound by law to stand down." Surprise, anger, fear and defeat sweep in rapid succession across the faces of Powell and his entourage. "Every man here - put your hands up."

Harken steps carefully over the raised threshold and looks around. "Every man and every woman," he corrects as his eyes settle on Zoe. She's about to beg for Mal's life but the horror and fury in the Commander's eyes as they register the lynching in progress tells her there's no need. "You men there!" he yells, withdrawing his gun from its holster. "Cut that man down immediately."

Zoe belatedly raises her hands, closes her eyes and offers up a silent prayer of thanks. The Captain can be as scornful as he likes when all this is over – Zoe needs a little faith just now.

The younger Powell brothers look to Angus for a lead. Defeated, he shrugs. "Drop him, boys." They haven't yet secured the rope and all they have to do is release it. It whips out of their hands with a flick as the weight of Mal's body falling the six inches or so to the floor pulls it upwards.

For an agonizing moment there's nothing. Then a gasp and a cough followed by the nauseating rattle of a man trying to breathe through a broken windpipe.

Zoe is across the ground separating her from Mal faster than anyone can tell her to stay still. She's on her knees, the blade needed to cut through the noose already unsheathed. "Nice goin', Sir," she whispers into his unhearing ear as she slices through the twists of fibre. "Gettin' caught by the Feds your genius backup plan?" Because bitter irony is better than breaking down in tears.

He may be free of the noose but Mal isn't getting enough air. Zoe's seen enough neck injuries during the war to know he ain't got a lot of time. He's already unconscious, which considering what's to be done, is a blessing ... She presses the point of her knife down into the skin over his Adam's apple. Cutting the noose has dulled the blade some and it takes more effort that she'd expected to cut through and into his trachea. There's a lot of blood and to stop him from drowning in it she has to pull him up so his head and shoulders are propped up against her body. Then she reaches her arms around him and inserts a forefinger at either end of the opening she's made to keep the airway open.

For a moment Harken is too stunned to speak. Awed by her certainty - by the way she never flinched – and more than a little envious of Reynolds ability to inspire such unswerving loyalty. Then he recovers himself. "Caron, get the med kit! At the double!"

Caron, older than the other privates, seems to have had some emergency medical training. He manages to insert a plastic tube through the hole in Mal's throat and attaches a plastic balloon which he pumps rhythmically.

Then a couple of feds grab Zoe by the arms and pull her to her feet. A click, and her hands are cuffed behind her back. "He needs a doctor," she snarls. "Now."

Commander Harken clasps his hands behind his back and pauses just long enough to let Zoe know he's the one giving the orders before saying "Fletcher, Wilson. I want full details on every man here. They are to stay here until I return. The rest of you, get these three," he points with a leather-gloved hand at Zoe, Mal and the still-unconscious Jayne, "back to base. Radio ahead for medical assistance. And see if you can't make a stretcher out of something for this one," he says with a look down at Mal that is almost of pity.

Because he's seen the bulletins. Knows that this nick-of-time rescue is only a temporary reprieve for Captain Reynolds. The man will face a firing squad before the week is out.

Because it appears that Malcolm Reynolds has moved on from looting and smuggling to gun-running and murder. Can the man who saved Harken's life really have let the place of nothing swallow him whole? It's a crying shame.

* * * * *

Wash is flying the shuttle with all the desperate intensity of a man with Reavers on his tail. Wild-eyed and staring. He catches Book's look of concern out of the corner of his eye.

"So, how wrong is it to want to kill someone?" he asks lightly, conversationally.

"Very."

"But what if they really, really deserve it?"

"Still very, I'm afraid. Bible's pretty specific. 'Thou shalt not kill.' Not a lot of leeway there."

"I'm not talking about the doing. Just the wanting. I could just want to kill him, right?" Wash's tone rises optimistically.

"Are we talking about someone in particular?" the Shepherd asks mildly. "Someone we know? The Captain, maybe?"

"Yeah, the Captain. What the hell's he thinking? What the hell is Zoe thinking? Shooting Consuls?! Why in the _suo you de dou shi dang_ can't they forget about the gorram war? Don't we have enemies enough in Niska?"

"That we do, son. But I don't believe the Captain did shoot the Consul. Though I do think there's them as want us and the rest of the 'verse to think that."

"Huh?" Wash pushes the steering wheel forward and cuts the engines as the shuttle comes to rest in a field just outside the village. "Why'd they want that?"

Book purses his lips. "Because it's ... convenient."

* * * * *

"What's that, hon?" Saffron stoops forwards and leans her left ear in closer towards Inara. "Speak up."

"He .. doesn't .. know.. anything," Inara rasps.

Saffron laughs. "Don't believe you, sweetheart. If that was true, you'd have said so earlier and saved yourself ... all this. You're protecting him."

"No." The word is barely audible. "He doesn't know."

Saffron stamps impatiently. "Yeah, you said that. Well, let's try something else." She drops to her knees at Inara's feet.

The Companion's eyes open wide in alarm and confusion. "What ... what are you...doing?" she asks her tormentor.

"Moving on. Not much left I can do to your fingers..." She cups a hand under Inara's bare foot. "So tell me, where is the syringe now?"

* * * * *

"Did he really just tell us everything we wanted to know and then let us go?" Wash runs a hand through his hair, spiking it up on end and making himself look even more agitated. "Why would he do that?"

"Think it's the outfit," Book says, touching his dog collar. "Soldiers – young soldiers in particular – are often quite religious. In a simple "Please God, don't let me die!" kind of way."

"Not in my experience." Even Wash does a double-take at the words but quickly rationalizes them to himself. "My wife, I mean. And Mal."

"Not exactly young soldiers," Book points out, filing away this conversation for future reference. He touches the pilot's arm. "At least we know your wife is safe."

"Oh yeah. Can always rely on Mal to keep my wife safe." Wash averts his eyes from Book's look of reproof. "How far now d'ya think?"

"'Bout another mile."

"What if they won't let us see them? Mal being all wanted for cold-blooded murder and such?"

"Oh, they'll let us see them."

Wash's disbelieving grimace is met by a smile of calm certainty from the preacher.

* * * * *

Kaylee is doing the only practical thing she can do to help the Captain. She's checking the engine meticulously. Every last wire and connection. Brushing away rust, lubing up joints and wiping off excess oil. At least when he comes back they'll be one hundred percent ready to get off this gorram_ ke wu_ planet.

If he comes back ....

"Coming back." Kaylee is so tense, River's voice makes her jump and bang her head off the engine casing. It takes her a while to process the words.

"You can't know..." Kaylee is as wary of tempting fate as she is desperate to believe her friend. "The bulletin said they found his gun at the scene. Why would they just let him go?"

"They think the fire will be worse than the frying pan," River says earnestly. "That's why."

Kaylee allows a spark of optimism to ignite. "He's really coming back?"

River nods. "But no kissing," she wags a stern finger at Kaylee and then smiles.

"How can you be sure?" Kaylee asks. Hope is good, certainty better.

River looks at Kaylee for a moment and then her focus alters, as though she can see right through her. She cocks her head on one side and seems to be listening to distant voices.

"See them all. Feel him."

"How? Is it what they did to you at the ...?"

"My brother. Just follow the vibrations. Love is the channel and need the boat."

* * * * *

"I would like to speak to your superior," Book tells the guard, his manner polite yet authoritative.

"You got an appointment, Granpa?" the young guard asks insolently. He's lolling against the wall, chewing gum and looking very, very bored.

"No."

"Can't speak to 'im then. Them's the rules. Can't be breakin' the rules for every Tom, Cheng and Hari who comes by."

"Oh, I think you might be able to bend them for me, son," Book says, pulling his ID card from a pocket.

Reluctantly the guard accepts it and feeds it into the reader. There's a beep, the guard looks down and suddenly feels the need to be a lot more deferential, more accommodating. "Get him for you right now, Sir!" he says hastily before scuttling quickly off down a corridor.

Book waits patiently whilst beside him Wash is jigging from one foot to the other, twitching with nervous energy. A couple of Feds engaged in desk work glance over at them, but soon lose interest.

Finally Commander Harken appears. He recognizes his visitors immediately as the men they are as well as the men they purport to be. His search through the news bulletin archive after interviewing the crew of Serenity all those months ago had taken a few hours, but his time was not wasted. He'd finally unearthed the reason the ship's pilot looked so familiar. Wash Warren was none other than the legendary Tao Collins, he was sure of it. Never mind that the bulletin told of Collins' death. Harken quickly came to the conclusion that it suited the powers that be to have people think the Alliance war hero dead so that he could be used for special missions. As for the man is clerical attire – well, not many had seen his face so there was no disgrace in not having recognized him during the interrogation. But his name ... well, that was another matter entirely.

"What can I do for you, Malle..?" he asks, inviting them to sit in the armchairs that furnish his office.

"Book. They call me Shepherd Book," the preacher reminds him pointedly. "I want you to release the Captain and his colleagues into my custody."

Wash's eyebrows shoot upwards and he gives a little gasp. Harken has to admire Collins' commitment to his cover. He plays the part of goofball pilot to perfection, almost as though he believes it himself.

"Of course." Harken agrees without argument. "If you would fill out the paperwork, Ma... Shepherd."

Book takes the proffered pen and scribbles a signature in several places on the triplicate sheets.

Wash's mouth is opening and shutting and his eyes dart from one man to the other like someone watching a magician and trying to see how the trick is done.

"Reynolds has been stabilized," Harken tells Book as he files away the forms. "But will need medication for some time."

"We are picking up a medic en route," Book assures him. "Will your men be able to take him to the ship?"

"Certainly." Harken's face breaks into a rare smile of admiration. A stroke of genius to infiltrate Reynolds' crew and to bide their time for so long. He has to shake these men by the hand.

* * * * *

The ramp closes behind them with a hiss of hydraulics that echoes Zoe's sigh of relief as she and Jayne stretcher the Captain back on board.

Simon rushes forward with a trolley on which they carefully lay their sedated patient. Kaylee approaches slowly. "Good to have you back, Cap'n," she whispers, a little catch in her voice. She bends down to kiss his left cheek, right in the centre of that pattern of moles which has always reminded Simon of the Eros constellation and the doctor is surprised at the hot rush of jealousy he feels.

"Kiss it all better," River laughs, and she too comes forward to plant a kiss on Mal's cheek.

"Okay, visiting hours are over." The rest of the crew take Simon's sharp tone for professional concern. "I need to get him to the infirmary."

"Let's get off this rock," Zoe says to her husband, softening the order with a kiss on the cheek.

"Suits me, lambie-toes." And he races up the stairway towards the bridge. "Where to? Persephone."

"No," Book says firmly. "Best take us somewhere by the scenic route. Under the radar. For a while."

Jayne regards the Shepherd through narrowed eyes and scratches his head. "Don't make no sense. One minute the Feds is all for putting us on trial, an' the next they let us go. Jus' like that. What the hell you say to 'em, Preacher?"

Zoe cocks an eyebrow and puts a hand on her hip. "Yeah, Shepherd. What d'you tell 'em."

The smile of content at being back home fades from Book's face. "My name," he says solemnly. "My real name."


	14. Desperado

"My name," Book says solemnly. "My real name."

There's something so damn unsettling about the preacher's reply that for a moment no-one can think of anything to say. Instead they all stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but Book holds his tongue.

"Must be one hell of a name," Zoe says eventually, the truth of the comment reverberating around the cargo bay even as she says it.

Book nods, just once, his eyes full of an emotion that sure ain't pride.

"Care to tell us what it is?" Zoe takes a step towards him. She's not exactly menacing, being all aware of how the preacher just got them off the Alliance hook, but she does want to apply a little pressure.

"Give a dog a bad name and hang him," River interjects in a flat monotone.

"Let's not be mentionin' hangin'," Zoe says with a shudder. "So, Shepherd – why don't you introduce yourself?"

Book looks across to where Mal's still form lies on the trolley and bites his lip. He turns to Simon. "Have heard tell as how hearing's the last sense to go. And that folk often remember things said when they were unconscious. That right, Doctor?"

"Absolutely. There are many documented cases. In fact, in his case study of ..."

"Tell us yer gorram name, preacher!" Jayne demands, unwilling to listen to more of Simon's doctor-speak.

"Prefer to wait until the Captain regains consciousness. Story's a long one. Don't want the Captain only half-knowing it." He pauses, remembering. "Besides, after my little adventure on Jianyin I made him a promise of sorts ..."

He's interrupted by a strange noise issuing from the back of Mal's throat. Simon looks anxious. "I really must run some checks on him now," he says and pushes the trolley off towards the infirmary. Kaylee trails along behind, trying to smile bravely but she's absent-mindedly wringing her hands.

"So, with your permission..." Book says quietly to Zoe who seems fearful of letting Mal out of her sight, even though he's in Simon Tam's safe hands.

"OK, Shepherd," she agrees. "We'll wait for the Cap'n."

"Hell, I wanted to know," Jayne complains as the preacher leaves for his bunk. "Ya had him on the back foot there – you shoulda nailed him," he tells Zoe impatiently.

"Hammer," River whispers to herself.

* * * * *

Saffron hurls the mallet to the ground furiously. She's used this technique many a time before and it's never failed. She glares at Inara with undisguised hatred. She will not be defeated by this_tian sa de biao_!

The case in front of her holds an awesome array of torture instruments, some of whose purpose is clear, others less so. It's one of the latter she selects – a spine-covered cylinder with a retractable crown of sharpened claws at one end. Saffron rolls it slowly between her hands, savouring the way the barbs sink into palms with an acid sting at the slightest pressure.

She turns back to her quarry, eyes glinting with determination, and lays the device on Inara's lap so that the Companion can compose her own nightmares about the injuries it will inflict.

"I told him nothing." The words grate out. "You know ... you know I love him. Why would I endanger his life?"

"_Taikong suo you de xing qiu sai jin wo de pigu_!" Saffron explodes. Because at last the penny drops and she realizes Inara has been telling the truth all along. Stupid piece of crap that she is, she's prepared to die to protect that pretentious, self-satisfied, holier-than-thou _hundan_!

Frustrated, Saffron kicks Inara hard in the shin before recovering herself. She turns to Monty's henchmen who have been watching proceedings with a growing sense of anticipation mingled with the fear that their reward may not last long enough to be enjoyed.

"Okay, boys." There's that cooing, little-girl tone again. "She's all yours. If what they say is true, she's got skills you've never imagined - not even in your dirtiest fantasies. So, enjoy! I hear she's well worth taking advantage of..."

* * * * *

One of the benefits of being a doctor is that you always have something to do in an emergency. Whilst others are being tortured by raging emotion, you can concentrate on procedures and protocols and push aside the feelings that might tear you apart if there were nothing else to fill the void. No matter if clinical necessity makes you seem like a robot. Better that than give way to your feelings of terror and inadequacy..

There's comfort to be had in doing, in hiding behind the doing. Simon knows he's a lot like the Captain in that respect. Both would rather act than talk and neither is good at expressing their deepest feelings ... No wait, there are some feelings – like anger, frustration and vengefulness – that Mal has no trouble in expressing. Even if he does tend to so with his fists rather than words. So perhaps they aren't so much alike after all, Mal's volatility in stark contrast to his doctor's control.

Simon checks his patient's vitals yet again and punches the data into his log. Wonders if he should rearrange the pillows? Get another blanket? No. None of that is necessary. The Captain is comfortable. He's received first-rate surgery and arrived with more than enough high quality drugs to see him through this. He might even make it without Simon's medical expertise.

The thought that Mal might not need him there is more disconcerting than the medic would have expected. He fiddles with the dressing at the Captain's throat unnecessarily and tries to pretend it doesn't worry him.

Well, no more than anything else. Worry is the one constant in Simon's life. When he's not worrying about the ebb and flow of his sister's sanity, he's busy trying to second-guess the Captain. Constantly trying to keep the two of them from clashing and to avoid being caught in the middle when they do. So it's not really surprising he spends so much time thinking about how Mal might be feeling, how he might react to any given situation. It's not as if there's any more to it than that.

"Can I come in?" It's Kaylee. The anguish has left her face but she's still pale and serious. "Is he okay?"

Simon smiles. Dear Kaylee. He's never met anyone so full of unconditional love or who wears their heart on their sleeve quite so openly. He wishes he were more like that. "He's fine. Another day or two and he'll be up and about. And in a month he'll be back to yelling at us all again."

Kaylee's frozen smile warms as it spreads from her mouth to her eyes. She goes over to the trolley and takes Mal's hand in hers.

"Hear that, Cap'n? Simon's callin' you bossy!" she says lacing her fingers through his and holding on tight. How easily touching comes to her.

Then River appears and the centre of Simon's world shifts. She looks from her brother to Kaylee to Mal and then back to Simon.

"It's not a triangle," she tells him in a voice that implies it really ought to be obvious. "It's a square with a missing corner."

* * * *

Simon has assured Zoe that given the circumstances the Captain's condition is better than satisfactory and with Mal still showing no signs of coming round, she decides it's time to retire and get some rest herself.

When she reaches the bottom of the ladder into their bunk, Wash leaps up and rushes over to her, dancing about as though he's trying to hide something. "Close your eyes, _baobei_," he urges.

Zoe smiles indulgently and lowers her lids. "What's goin' on, sweet-cakes?" she asks in a throaty purr, assuming that his game is a prelude to love-making. She takes in a deep, contented breath and notices a luxurious though subtle scent filling the room.

"A little surprise – a welcome home," Wash says, steering her across the room. "OK, you can open your eyes now."

He's shuttered off a one corner with a bamboo screen and filled it with scented candles. Serenity's one half-shell bathing bowl holds a litre or two of water on which float pink and white petals. Zoe's smile broadens and the passionate love she feels for her husband glows brightly in her deep, dark eyes. She pulls Wash into her arms and slowly kisses him. "Thank you. How did you...?"

"Thought you might want to get clean of that planet's dust. Got the candles and flowers from Inara a while back. For use on a special occasion." He pushes a stray curl back from her temple with gentle fingers. "Figured my wife coming home to me – my *pregnant* wife coming home to me - is about as special as it gets."

Her arms tighten around him and she runs a hand down from his shoulder blade and past his waist to press him closer with a squeeze of his buttock. "Might wanna get dirtier first ..." she rumbles against his neck.

Wash pulls back with a regretful sigh. "Did I say that I made hot water specially? You should use it now before all you're left with is tepid."

Not wanting to disappoint him, Zoe starts unfastening her waistcoat. "Don't think tepid's gonna be a problem tonight..." she says fixing him with a look that all but melts his spine as her fingers work their way down the buttons of her shirt which she then tosses aside. The warm light from the candles emphasizes the swell of her breasts and for a moment Wash is dumb-struck at how beautiful she is.

She pulls off her pants and underwear and positions herself carefully in the water. "You gonna stand there gawpin' all night or are you gonna scrub my back?" she chuckles at the way Wash is rooted to the spot.

He hurries over and picks up the sponge. "Ready and standing by for back-scrubbing duties, ma'am," he declares, plunging the sponge into the bath and squeezing it out against the nape of her neck so that the water travels in golden candle-lit rivulets down the chocolate truffle skin of her back. "It is so good to have you home. For a while there..."

"Hush, now. Let's not..."

"But what if..? I'd have ... What was Mal...?" Damn it! He wasn't going to start in on the Mal thing. At least not yet, he wasn't.

"He ain't here," Zoe says softly although her voice has a tight edge to it. "Let's jus' think about ...." Suddenly she's curling forward, fists clenched and groaning.

"Zoe! What is it?"

"Noth..." she starts to say when another wave of cramping pain flares through her abdomen, forcing the air from her lungs. She draws her knees up to her chest and grits her teeth against the pain.

Wash feels dread seize him by the throat. He looks down and sees his wife's bath water turning red.

* * * *

At first it's like looking through glass smeared with grease but gradually his eyes start to focus. White panels, metal strips and harsh, bright lighting. The smell of disinfectant confirms Mal's assessment that he's in the infirmary. For a merciful second or two, he can't remember why. Then fragments of the Xenos job crowd his memory. Powell, crates of guns, a rope, Zoe's grief-stricken face ... Well, at least he ain't dead and that's not nothin'.

There's a pain in his throat, dulled some by drugs he's sure. Apart from that he doesn't feel too bad.

He lets his head roll to one side and is horrified to see Zoe laid out on the exam table. Her lips curve into a smile as his eyes meet hers. "Glad to have you back, Sir."

He's frowning, eyes wide and questioning. "Why're you in here? What happened?" he tries to ask, all in a rush but nothing comes out other than a peculiar rasping whisper.

"Try not to talk, Sir. You suffered a bit of trauma to the neck. Had to cut into you my own self..." She grins at the face he pulls. "Thought you might wanna keep breathin' is all," she explains. "Then the Alliance patched you up..."

"What?!!" Mal can't even to speak, let alone yell. "What?!" he asks again, mouthing the word precisely and gesturing wildly with his hands.

"Shepherd used his influence," she confides darkly. "Said he'd explain about that when you came to."

Mal's eyes are getting wider and wider and his mouth falls open. This don't make no sense at all. He turns his attention back to Zoe, directs a questioning finger at her and raises his eyebrows.

"Bit of a scare with the baby, Sir," she tells him, then as his expression clouds over and he tries to push himself up from the trolley she hurries on, "but I'm fine. The baby's fine. Simon says it was probably the stress. Just have to rest up a bit."

Wash is sliding the door open and enters. "Which means no more jobs, Sir," he says emphatically and then, in response to the glare Mal is giving him, "Sorry, Mal, you'll just have to get used to the idea. I am putting my foot down." A quick glance at Zoe. " If that's all right with you, sweetie?"

Mal is clenching his fists with frustration and his eyes are burning with annoyance. He'd already come to the same decision himself and bitterly resents being pre-empted. "You" he mouths silently at Wash, wagging his finger aggressively at the pilot.

"What?" Wash asks, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "You got something to say, Mal? Well come on then, spit it out!"

* * * * *

._A day later_

"And just where do we think we are going?" The prissy, pissy voice behind him is Simon's. Mal freezes, mid-step then decides to keep walking, pretending not to hear. "I know you can hear me."

Mal spins round and favours his medic with a black scowl. Simon ignores it. Mal punches a hand sideways into the wall. Gorramit! No-one seems able to take him seriously since he's been reduced to whispering at them.

"You should be in bed," Simon says, returning Mal's glare with a stern look of his own. "Don't make me force you."

The laugh is out before Mal can worry about the pain it will cause him. And it does. He presses a hand to his throat, eyes watering with surprise at how much it hurts.

Simon takes his elbow and tries to propel him back towards his bunk but Mal resists. "What's so important that it can't wait a day or two?" Simon sighs.

The pain in Mal's eyes intensifies. How to say it? How to say it in the desperate, pleading little whisper that's all that's left of his voice without sounding utterly pathetic? "Inara."

A wry, indulgent smile twitches over Simon's lips. "You want a visit from Inara?" he asks in a tone that might be amused. Or even sardonic.

Mal grinds his teeth together. No, he wants to yell, *I* want to go see *her*. Kick in her shuttle door and demand to know why she's been too busy to enquire after my health when I very nearly ruttin' well died!

Instead he just nods, a touch miserably.

Simon takes pity on him. "I'll make you a deal – you go back to your bunk and I'll ask Kaylee to speak to Inara."

Mal blinks hard and gives an almost imperceptible defiant shake of the head. He flashes Simon a fake smile. All the while imagining the numerous ways he's going to make the doctor suffer for this once he's back to full fitness.

* * * * *

"She ain't there, Simon. Ain't been there for days, I'd reckon," Kaylee wails. "It's like she's just vanished into the Black."

Simon frowns. He has a bad feeling about this. Feels somewhat guilty too, because he really should have investigated Inara's failure to fret about Mal being unconscious earlier. He can't think of another time when the Captain's life was in danger that she wasn't there, getting in his way, emotions leaking out from behind the impassive Companion's mask she wears. To tell the truth, he preferred being alone with his patient. It enabled him to monitor his progress by paying careful attention to his skin colour and listing to the sound of his breathing. By laying two fingers on the inside of his wrist and feeling the pulse throb beneath them.

"What shall I tell the Cap'n?" Kaylee asks fearfully. "I'm worried, Simon. Really worried."

"What you worryin' 'bout now, li'l Kaylee?" Jayne asks, loping into the commons and flopping down onto one of the sofas. "Lack of willin' menfolk? Cos, hell, I ain't doin' anythin' special...." He gives her a warm-hearted leer.

"Do you have to?" Simon asks, appalled.

"It's Inara, Jayne," Kaylee confides. "The Cap'n wants to see her and she ain't in her shuttle."

The leer vanishes and all the colour drains out of the mercenary's face.

"_Ai ya, wo men wan le_!" he tells Books as the preacher steps down into the room.

"What you talkin' about?" Kaylee asks. "S'nothin' to do with you. It's Inara... Oh!"

Jayne nods grimly at her, then turns to the Preacher.

"Least Mal's too weak to be wieldin' a monkey wrench," he suggests with more than a touch of gallow's humour. "He'll only be able to kill one of us, tops."

"The Captain won't be killing anyone, Jayne," Book says calmly, the voice of reason. "Not when we explain."

"Explain what?" Wash asks from the door way. "To who?"

"Plucked all the petals off the daisy," River pipes up from her position on the kitchen counter where she sits, swinging her legs. "Chain's broken now."

* * * * *

Simon wonders if he should be getting something for Mal's blood pressure. The Captain is madder than he's ever seen him, which makes for a pretty awesome sight. As soon as the words were out of Jayne's mouth, he slammed him into the nearest wall and now has his face inches from the mercenary's, looking for all the 'verse like he might tear the flesh off it with his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Mal. I di'n't know what else to do..." In these situations Jayne always forgets he physically much stronger than Mal. He seems to shrivel under the heat of the Captain's ire.

"Captain, if I might..." Book steps forward.

His placatory tone does nothing to assuage Mal's fury. "No!" At least he can still hiss.

"Think we should hear him out, Sir," Zoe says, laying a firm hand on Mal's shoulder. "Seems the Shepherd's may have more'n one real interestin' tale to tell."

Mal releases Jayne by digging the heels of his hands into his chest and shoving the big man hard backwards into the wall again, all the while fixing him with a furious glare. Then he spins round to confront the preacher. He folds his arms across his chest, his expression taut and challenging.

He listens in silence as Book defends Jayne's actions and how he supported him. When he gets to the bit about Inara trying to inject poison into Wash, the pilot gasps and Zoe mutters something about skinning the gorram whore alive.

"See?" Jayne pleads. "I knew this'd happen. I was tryin' to keep things uncomplicated. Smooth."

There are so many questions rattling around in Mal's brain, he feels quite dizzy. Looks to his crew to anchor him. Zoe's face is expressionless but her eyes burn with a dangerous resolution. Wash looks stunned and more than a mite sick. Kaylee's in denial. She's trying to smile whilst she hunts for an explanation that will make everything okay but her brow is creased with worry. Jayne wipes the sweat from his forehead and shoots a grateful look at Book who's serious but calm. Simon's face conveys shock and disbelief.

But River's the one that worries Mal. Silent tears are running down her cheeks, dripping from her chin. Some instinct tells him it's more than the current row that's upsetting her and he don't like it. Don't like it at all.

"Should have told me, Jayne." With effort he manages to force the words out, his voice hoarse with pain. "Wa'n't your decision to make ... even if you was tryin' to be helpful ..."

"No, Mal," Jayne say apologetically, relieved that the threat of being spaced is receding.

" ... but things ain't right between us. You find her. Then we'll see what's to be done."

All of a sudden the effort and emotion become to much for him. He sways a little and falls back onto his bed. His eyes close involuntarily.

"The Captain is in serious need of some quiet," Simon announces firmly. "I think everyone should leave."

Mal's eyes snap open again. "Find her, Jayne."

* * * * *

The sound of Saffron singing to herself as she approaches sends chills up Monty's spine.

"All done, hubby," she tells him, throwing herself onto the couch and kicking off her shoes.

Monty feels queasy. Never had much of a stomach for this sort of thing. "And everything's ... ?"

"Cleared up and tidied away, silly!" she simpers. "Now, how's about opening a bottle of that counterfeit bubbly to celebrate?"


	15. Bad Bishop

One look at the grey tinge to Mal's cheeks convinces Serenity's crew that the Doctor's not wrong. The Captain really is in serious need of some quiet. They climb the ladder out of his bunk in awkward, anxious silence. In the walkway above, they hesitate, unsure what they should do next.

Zoe assumes command. "Looks like it's your call, Jayne. Cap'n's main concern is findin' Inara an' he's relyin' on you to get the job done. Where'd we start?" If Mal weren't in such a bad way she'd be calling him all manner of stupid for fretting about the whereabouts of that murderous bitch. As things stand, her loyalty to him outweighs other considerations. And finding Inara does offer the prospect of pay-back.

Jayne forces himself to put aside his resentment at Mal's reaction to his admission that he'd thrown the Companion off the ship. At the way he'd made him feel lower than the dirt on his boots. When Jayne had only been tryin' to help.

He glares defiantly back at Zoe. He might not be as smart as her but he's the best tracker in the whole gorram 'verse. And she ruttin' well needs his know-how. He ain't gonna put up with being looked down on. "Better tell your husband to set a course for Persephone," he tells her, ignoring the fact that Wash is standing right there next to him. "And whilst you're at it, you might ask him why the hell Inara would wanna poison him in the first place!"

* * * * *

Wash flicks the switches on the panel above his head and begins entering coordinates into the nav system. "We're a long way out," he tells Zoe, who's standing behind him, staring out into the Black, "It's gonna take best part of two weeks to reach Persephone from here."

"Uh-huh," she says, not really listening. Her mind's somewhere else. Somewhere even less pleasant than in hot pursuit of her husband's would-be assassin on a ship whose Captain – not seven days ago - was hanging from the end of a rope. She feels trapped, manipulated, like a piece being moved around a chess board. Are they heading into a trap? She ain't forgotten the time when the windows in front of her looked out onto the electric blue criss-crossing veins of that gorram net Saffron tried to snare them with. It still rankles with her that Mal didn't finish the _jian huo_ when he had the chance. He's so damn compliant when it comes to women. Got these old-fashioned notions about the right way to treat a lady. Which makes it easy for 'em run rings round him. Ain't hardly a surprise he was taken in by Inara's Companion-with-a-heart of gold act.

"Penny for them, lambie," Wash says, squeezing her hand.

She blinks away the past and her fears for the future. More pressing matters to attend to. "Not sure they're worth that much. Given as how I was thinkin' about the Captain's ex-wife. How come she found it so easy to seduce him?"

"I dunno," Wash shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I never fell for her tricks, remember. Remember?"  
Zoe's smile is not entirely convincing. "Which is why I know Inara wou'n't have been tryin' to kill you for havin' ... made a nuisance of yourself." Is it Wash's imagination or is does the comment carry the promise of a swift death if only he comes clean now rather than a slow one later on if she discovers anything to the contrary?  
He's offended. He spins the pilot's chair round and looks up at her with big, sorrowful eyes.

"How can you even say that? When you know you're the only woman in the 'verse for me?"  
"I'm sorry, honey," Zoe says quickly, crouching down to look him in the eyes. "Really sorry. Guess the idea of someone tryin' to kill you has made me a mite tetchy. I can't understand it. What'd she have against you of all people?"

"Could be Jayne was drunk and saw it all wrong," Wash suggests.

"Think you were the one who was drunk, pookie. Anyhow, Inara jus' up and left. Wou'n't've done that if she di'n't have somethin' to feel guilty about."

"S'pose," Wash agrees, turning back to the controls. "Still don't know why she'd want me dead. I really ain't that interesting..."

'Ain't that interesting'. The phrase tickles a memory. Something to do with Inara. And something to do with Wash. Zoe closes her eyes. Yes! That's it! In the ensuing excitement she'd forgotten all about it. River stole the shuttle; Mal ordered Jayne to track her down; Jayne said you couldn't track through the Black; then Wash said you could. If you used 'standard military aircraft recognition procedure'. Zoe remembers Mal's curious "Well ain't that interestin'?" and the flash of interest she saw in Inara's eyes. Remembers wondering how Wash knew a good gorram about military procedures of any sort.

"You're interestin' to me," she replies soothingly.

And just a bit too damn interestin' at that.

* * * * *

Jayne strides off down the corridor, blood boiling with righteous indignation. Feels the need to work off some of this tension before he lashes out at someone. Lifting a few weights is his only option.

Behind him Kaylee quickens her pace until she is walking along at his side. She feels sorry for him. Poor fella's always actin' first an' thinkin' later an' it's always landin' him in trouble.

"You'll find her, Jayne, I know you will," she tells him with a confidence that is only part bluster. "Where're ya gonna start lookin'?"

Jayne has always had a soft spot for Kaylee, so he can't help but relax a little when he looks into her smiling eyes. "Eavesdown Docks. Pretty sure she'll have gone there lookin' to get off world. I'll ask around, find out if anyone saw her. Not likely folks'd wou'n't notice her, is it?"

"No," Kaylee agrees. "Fancy ladies is mighty rare in a place like Eavesdown. Think she went back to Sihnon?"

Jayne pulls a non-committal face. "Maybe. But best not to go assumin' nothin'. Quickest way for the trail to go cold."

Kaylee nods, hesitating. She touches Jayne's arm.

"Are you sure – real sure - she was tryin' to kill Wash, Jayne? Cos it don't sound like a thing 'Nara'd do ... You an' Wash maybe had too much liquor?"

The mercenary shakes loose of her, his expression darkening.

"I know what I saw," he says icily. "She was just about to stick him with a needle when I stopped her. Everybody seems to be forgettin' how as I saved the little man's life ... Think I'd be getting' some credit for that ..."

"Oh you are," Kaylee exclaims, saddened by the hurt on his face. "Wash is all manner of grateful. Zoe too. And the Cap'n will be when he's better. You'll see..."

Jayne is staring at her, monumentally unconvinced. "Yeah. Mal's real grateful. I could tell that by the way he was throwin' me around."

* * * * *

The security barrier that restricts access to the Blue Sun Corporation facility rises automatically as the car approaches. It's a mid-range model with anonymous grey paintwork. The type of vehicle favoured by middle managers all over Londinium. Nothing fancy, no personalized number plates. Those with real power don't like to advertize the fact.

As the car glides down the ramp leading to the reserved parking bays, Parkin stubs out his cigar.

"I think I finally understand your game plan," he tells Rantoong.

"You do?"

"You don't care who wins or loses. In fact, you don't want the game to end at all."

Rantoong remains silent but his expression warms slightly. Skills like his generally go unacknowledged.

"So, it doesn't matter whether Reynolds lives or dies. What's important is that the two sides keep hating one another."

His colleague nods. "Precisely. There's no better way of maintaining the status quo than making people believe it's under threat. Although I've come to the conclusion Captain Reynolds is of more use to us alive. A dead bogeyman is hardly a bogeyman at all. I believe that ship of his is on its way to Persephone. May I leave it to you to ensure his time there is uneventful?"

* * * * *

_A week later_

"What do you think?"

Simon's eyes follow the fork's journey from the outset when it digs into the mound of pinky grey sludge he's been cooking for the crew's supper to its final destination as Kaylee's lips close around it with an optimistic curl. Now his attention moves to her bright eyes, waiting for the change in them that will signal success or failure.

She loves him looking at her like this – gazing at her mouth and into her eyes so seriously, so attentively. He looks for all the 'verse like a man in love.

Under his watchful, serious blue eyes, she swallows the mouthful of processed protein. Then her hand flies up to her mouth and her eyes open wide with surprise.

"Is it good?" He can hardly believe it.

"No!" she laughs, wrinkling up her nose. "It's horrible. Jus' hope you kiss better than you cook, Doctor ..." and she flips him playfully in the chest with the back of her hand before dancing backwards towards the sink to fetch a glass of water.

Simon's cheeks flush bright pink and to cover his confusion, he pops a spoonful of the meal into his own mouth. A swallow and then he starts to gag. "Oh my God! That is truly disgusting!"

"Told you. Here, wash the taste away." She hands him the glass which he empties in one thankful gulp.

Kaylee's eyes twinkle with devilment. "Guess that means we're wed," she tells him, her amusement growing as he starts at the suggestion. "Ain't that how Saffron married the Cap'n? Got him to drink of her wine?"

Simon gives a rueful smile. "Poor Mal. He doesn't have much luck with women, does he? His wife turns out to be a liar and a thief who'd have happily sent us all to our deaths. Then Nandi goes and gets herself shot a matter of hours after ... you know .. and now Inara's disappeared. To misquote a playwright from Earth-that-was: 'To lose one lover may be regarded as a misfortune – to lose three looks like carelessness'. You'd think he'd give up on women altogether!"

Simon has a mean side to him sometimes that unsettles Kaylee. She don't like the way Simon is laughing at Mal's romantic disappointments, nor the way he can talk so lightly about Inara having vanished. She's missing the Companion almost as badly as she imagines the Cap'n is. The smile leaves her face.

"Maybe she's not lost. 'Nara I mean. Jayne thinks she might be on Persephone. That same day you came aboard she told me one of her clients there had fallen in love with her. Could be she's with him. Perhaps she's decided to settle down. You never know."

"You two got nothing' better to do than hang about gossipin'?" Mal has taken to padding about barefoot and his ability to creep up on you unawares is damn near miraculous. "Kind of a girlish occupation, ain't it?" he asks Simon with one of those smiles that makes him look like he's spoiling for a fight.

The doctor makes a strangled little noise and tries to look busy at the stove.

Kaylee attempts a smile but her embarrassment is plain. Mal's refusal to return the smile makes her squirm. She didn't mean to hurt his feelings.

"Good to see you up and about, Cap'n," she ventures. "You're soundin' much better ..."

"So. Now you're a doctor?" he snaps back at her. "Interferin' in Simon's affairs too?"

Her face falls and her eyes prick with tears. She takes a tentative step towards him. A hug could patch this up. But his glower stops her in her tracks.

"Time for a meetin' with all the crew," Mal announces, all captainy and distant. "Seein' as how you ain't doin' anythin' useful, Kaylee, you go tell 'em all to come up here. _Ma shang_."

* * * * *

"Figure I can find out where she went from there," Jayne ends with a cautious glance in Mal's direction. However the Captain is staring into the coffee mug he's rolling absent-mindedly between his palms.

"It's a good plan," he agrees without looking up. "An' Persephone's a good place to refuel, take on supplies. 'Course it's also a good place to run into the Feds ..."

"If we're careful, we probably won't. If we do, I'll handle it." Book says quietly.

Now that *does* make Mal look up. "Yeah, I dare say you will. Been hearin' a lot of awfully strange stories about you, Shepherd. How that ID card of yours got us out of trouble. It surely is an interestin' little wotsit. Think it's time for ... what d'you religious types call it? ... confession."

An expectant hush falls as each of the crew turns to look at Book. His eyes are sorrowful, imploring. He takes a deep breath and folds his hands together, interlacing the fingers tightly. Almost like he's begging them for absolution. The atmosphere in the room changes and to distract himself from his discomfort, Jayne pulls a knife from his belt and starts furiously polishing it.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned," Book begins, managing to combine irony with sincerity. "It has been longer than I care to think since my last confession. Best start with my name. Hopkins – Martin Hopkins. But I came to be known as Malleus, thanks to the sick joke of a colleague. Any of you heard the name Matthew Hopkins? A man – a monster – who lived on Earth-that-was in the 1600s?"

"Fire. Screaming." River screws up her eyes against the picture forming in her head.

"Exactly," Book nods. "Hopkins was the Witchfinder General. Hunted down so-called witches, put them to the test and had them executed."

"So?" Jayne can do without a history lesson about a place he don't know an' never will.

"I was working for the government – special operations. Had a colleague who fancied himself quite the historian. Knew all about the witch trials, a book called Malleus Maleficarum or The Hammer of Witches ..."

"What kind of special operations?" Zoe interrupts.

"Interrogating them as had been spying for the Independents."

There's a sharp intake of breath and vengeful look from Mal but he blinks it quickly away and gestures for the Shepherd to continue.

"Don't know if you're aware of it, but during the war and before it – probably afterwards as well – spies were mostly women. On account of them finding it easier to be accepted into society – particularly if they had, uh, certain charms. Women also have better verbal and social skills. Able to learn more, remember conversations." He waits for the information to sink in before continuing:

"At first it came easily to me. These women were rebels, dissidents. Determined to bring down the Alliance and the order it had established. They were no better than vermin. All I had to do was to find out what they knew, who they were helping. Had the authority to use any means necessary."

Kaylee gasps and the preacher hangs his head. "Lost count of how many I killed. Can't forget the things I did to them beforehand." He takes a sip from the glass in front of him. His hands are trembling. "Then it took hold of me. I don't mean I derived pleasure from it – just a profound satisfaction from getting the job done. Even had a couple of tools custom-made. I was like a machine. They gave me a girl to question; I broke her. As easy as snapping a stick. Even stopped giving half a hump whether they were innocent or not."

He leans his elbows on the table and covers his face with his hands. No-one speaks, their shock and horror damn near palpable.

"Best you go on," Mal says grimly. "'Fore any of us gets a notion to be seekin' retribution."

"Nobody was better at getting information out of a Browncoat spy than me. I had no mercy. The colleague I was telling you about – he gave me a nickname. Hopkins, Hammer of Bitches. Eventually I got promotion, to a position only a few ranks down from the government elite. The kind of promotion that comes with all manner of unseemly perks. They figured I needed a title. So I became the Malleus. Malleus Hopkins. Guess they thought the Latin added gravitas."

"Malleus. Hammer. Malum. Apple. Mal. Bad." River does her peculiar brand of math in an undertone as Zoe slides a hand to her thigh and feels for her handgun. Preacher may need puttin' down yet. Even with all he's done for them. Best to be ready.

Simon's face twists with disgust. Sitting next to him is a man who made a living from cutting and burning and doing God knows what else to girls. Girls like his sister. "So you are a fan of Shan Yu, after all?"

"No, son. Was. Not am." He rubs his temples, dislodging beads of sweat from his brow. "Eventually had a bit of a road to Damascus experience."

"Damascus? Where's that? And why were you on the road all of a sudden?" Jayne asks in confusion.

Book doesn't bother to explain.

"They got clever. The Independents, I mean. The Alliance had always been clever. Our spies were given a drug – obfuscalin - to be taken if they were ever captured. It altered memories, confused things up a bit. Any information beaten out of them would be incomprehensible, useless. And after questioning them, the Browncoats would often let our girls go. Then it was just a matter of picking them up, administering some anti-obfuscalin and sending them off again on a mission somewhere they wouldn't be recognized."

Mal is following all this with a sharp, unrelenting concentration. There's a dangerous glitter in the dark blue of his eyes.

"You said the Independents got clever?" Zoe prompts the Shepherd.

"Broke into a government facility and stole batches of both the drug and the antidote. Started using obfuscalin themselves to prevent their own spies from giving away secrets under torture. 'Course, with Alliance interrogation methods being so thorough, they didn't have much use for the antidote ..."

Simon is thinking hard. Does this have something to do with what happened to River? Does she talk in riddles because some _lan dong_ government poison is addling her brain, destroying her sanity?

"Does the Alliance still make the antidote? Or obfuscalin? Could they have used that filth on my sister?" He wants to seize Book by the dog collar and squeeze the truth out of him. His fists clench into balls.

Book presses his lips together and shakes his head.

"I don't know, son. It's possible, I suppose. There was an air strike on the production facility. Totally destroyed it. There were others – where they were experimenting with all sort of mind-enhancing, mind-controlling drugs, but with little success. Although I do remember reading ..."

"This is an interestin' diversion for another day, Doc," Mal says firmly but not without sympathy. "Get back to your story. How come you went from being a Hammer to following a carpenter?"

"Had to question this one girl. Pretty thing she was. I didn't know it, but she'd taken the drug. I just thought she was defying me. I responded badly." Book covers his mouth with a hand, as though he might be about to vomit. Tears start falling down his face. "It was only afterwards I realized her child was there ... saw it all."

"_Niu cao de hundan_!" Wash explodes, rising from his seat. Zoe pulls him back down quickly.

"Through her eyes, I finally saw the monster I'd become. After that I couldn't do it any more. Had to quit."

"What?!" Zoe sneers. "They jus' let you retire? I don't think so."

"It's true. They claimed I'd earned it. It was unusual, I'll admit. But not unheard of. Some people – war heroes and the like – were even given new identities. Wasn't offered that myself. Think maybe they were hopin' I'd come back to them. Or perhaps they were planning to force me back. They had an awful lot of dirt on me."

"What did you do then?" Kaylee asks, face ashen.

"A lot of stupid things, Kaylee. A lot of stupid things. Drinking, whoring, gambling. Anything to try to lose myself. But nothing filled the yawning hole inside."

"Could have jus' killed yourself," Zoe points out helpfully. "Saved others the trouble."

"Oh, I tried. Took an overdose, washed down with a bottle of brandy. Wou'n't be here now if the monks hadn't found me. They were good men. Put me back together, mentally as well as physically." He pauses again and shoots a look full of regret, hope and understanding at Mal. "Believe they were aided by a higher power. A power that heals."

Mal snorts derisively and the Shepherd continues. "I was happier than I'd ever been at the Abbey – and all aware of how I didn't deserve to be. Took the name Book to remind myself I'd been named after a book before. As a penance. But I did find a kind of peace. So when the Abbott told me I had to join your crew, Captain ..." Horrified, suspicious glances are exchanged all round the table but Book continues, "I was most unwilling. But he told me a girl was in danger. Needed my help. It seemed like karma."

"What girl?" Wash asks.

"River?" "Kaylee?" "Me?" Simon, Jayne and Zoe ask all at once.

"Inara," Mal says quietly. "Ain't that right? What were you supposed to be protectin' her from?"

There's so much Book wants to say. The only thing that comes out is "You."

"I've had enough of this.." Zoe starts, getting to her feet.

"Sit," Mal orders, his eyes not leaving Book's. "Protect her from me? Why?"

"Think I was being manoeuvred, Captain. The Abbott told me a whole pack of lies about you I was stupid enough to believe. Wanted to believe. Felt it lessened the weight of my own sin if there was another like me. Anyway, he had me reporting back to him on where Inara was, what she was doing..."

Even Mal seems surprised by the punch that sends Book sprawling to the floor. He rubs the knuckles of his right hand with the palm of his left and stares down at the Shepherd. "Live with a man comin' on three years, talk with him on every subject..." he muses. "Never figured the real you for a ruttin' fool, Preacher."

"We all see what we want to see, son. But the scales have fallen from my eyes once again. And now I want to help you. You know I can be useful to you."

Mal nods curtly and pulls him to his feet. "Dare say you can at that. An' I never did trust you anyway."

Jayne rubs his chin thoughtfully, eyes evaluating the Shepherd as if he were a weapon the mercenary might spend hard-earned coin on.

"Harken let us go because it was you -" he points at the Preacher with his blade "- doin' the askin'. Which means the Feds still think you're working for the Alliance," he adds tilting the knife towards the imaginary foe. He turns to Mal. "Gives us a bit of an advantage, don't it?"

River regards the mercenary with surprise as he gives voice to her thoughts. "Judas got paid in silver," she agrees, smiling admiringly at Jayne.

* * * * *

The nightmare is always the same. He yanks the barbed cylinder out of the body of the woman strapped to the table with leather restraints. An arc of red droplets hits the wall. She's dead. At last. He can tell by the way the arterial blood is now pooling instead of pumping..

The heat of his indignation at her defiance leaves him and he starts to shake.

"You okay, Malleus?" his assistant asks as if from very far away.

"Yes, just someone walking over my grave. Think we should run some tests on the cadaver. Resistance like that doesn't come naturally. Could be the Browncoat scum are playing us at our own game."

The assistant clicks his heels smartly together and pushes the table towards the exit, leaving his superior alone in a room that is now as quiet as a morgue. Or at least, nearly. There's a snuffling noise, coming from behind the blackout curtain.

Malleus Hopkins draws it swiftly aside, and there crouched down, staring dead ahead and sobbing pathetically is a child. A girl of seven or eight years of age. Wispy red hair, round blue eyes just like her mother's.

For the first time since he started in this line of work, the Malleus is sick. And keeps being sick until all he's bringing up is black, bitter bile.


	16. Deep Blue

There are the moments before when he floats, weightless on the edge of the precipice. Pure spirit. With no past, only future. An infinite, inviting future studded with brilliant stars. He hardly dares breathe, for in this glorious, painful state of anticipation, the slightest inhalation makes the crackling energy smouldering at his every nerve ending burst into searing heat.

He waits. Balanced, yet ready to fall.

And then her mouth is on him. Hot, greedy. Sucking, pushing, pulling, devouring. Her tongue swivels and slicks, hard and yielding by turns.

He tries to keep it all in. Resist the reflex to arch and thrust. Tries to just be. Let himself be in the now.  
His hands clench against the sheets.

And then he is falling, heavy as a stone, plummeting into her. With her. Through time and space and beyond. Without and within everything is rushing. He can't breathe fast enough, move quickly enough, get deep enough.

A shudder and he bursts. Heat and light exploding into a 'verse of his own creation, filled with galaxies of new stars, each orbited by perfect worlds where no desire goes unfulfilled, no dream unrealized. Pleasure so intense he loses himself in it.

The coming back is a sadness but she smiles at him and he knows he is safe. He twists a dark curl around his finger.

"I thought I'd lost you. I didn't think you'd come back to me."

"I will always come back to you. You're on my crew. And in my heart. I could never leave you."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

... It's only a dream. But an undeniably shiny one. Mal stretches out luxuriously in his bed. He crosses his arms behind his head and smiles to himself.

Yup. It's gonna be a real good day.

* * * * *

"You wait here – keep a look out," Mal says suddenly and before Zoe can ask why, he dives into a store. Her eyes slide up and down the street, looking for the hidden dangers. Cos there are always hidden dangers.

What seems like an age later, Mal emerges looking mighty pleased with himself. Saw a wooden carving of a mare and foal in the window - it reminded him of home, Momma, the ranch, of so much that was lost - and just had to buy it for Zoe and the baby. Then got a bit carried away and bought a couple of peace offerings for others on his crew.

"Been doin' a bit of shoppin' have we, Sir?"

He pats the pocket of his pants and nods. "An' with my own coin too."

Zoe raises one eyebrow ever so slightly. "That strictly necessary, Sir? You did see how much stuff Kaylee an' the Shepherd came back with this mornin'?"

Mal grins. "Sure was a sight to see, wasn't it? We ain't never had so many supplies. Wash seemed pretty darned pleased with the amount of fuel we got too. One word from Book an' folks was fallin' over themselves to accommodate us. Mus' say – I'm feeling a mite better disposed towards the Shepherd today."

"That's cos you're a whore, Sir. Easily bought."

Mal laughs. Been a long time since Zoe's seen him so cheerful. "Oh come on, Zoe. You tellin' me this ain't fun? Robbin' the Alliance blind an' them not havin' a clue we're doin' it? Fair warms the cockles. This is the most fun I've had in ages."

"That's cos you're comparin' it to bar fights and lynchin's, Sir," she deadpans before giving him her Very Serious look. "What we gonna do about the preacher?"

"Nothin'. Leastways, nothin' yet." Mal says firmly, dismissing the arguments forming in Zoe's mind before she has time to raise them.

"Since when you did you get so forgivin'?" she asks.

"Oh, I ain't particularly forgivin'. Just practical. Besides, he's an old man and, dumb as it sounds, he believes in his God. Makes sense he'd be tryin' to make amends before havin' to go meet Him. Don't think he'll give us any trouble. An' you can't deny it – he is useful."

Zoe says nothing and for a while they walk along in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their backs. "Think it's the coats? The not wearing the coats? You notice how nobody's payin' us no mind?" Mal asks. "S'almost like bein' invisible."

"Oi! Captain Reynolds. I need a word with you!" The voice is unmistakable. Nobody chews a vowel and tries to force it down his nose quite like Badger.

Zoe's hand moves quickly to her gun and Mal, swings round, thumbs hooked into his suspenders, braced for a confrontation. But there's no need. One minute Badger is scurrying towards them, the next two federal officers heading in the opposite direction seize one arm each, lifting him up from the ground. Then he's being carried off, legs cycling uselessly through the air and his protests fading into the distance.

Mal and Zoe exchange a baffled look. Then Mal sighs contentedly. "I love it when things go smooth," he tells her.

She's unconvinced. "An' jus' when did anythin' ever go smooth?"

* * * * *

When they get back to the ship, the cargo bay is a bustle of activity. Wash and Book are hauling the larger crates for storing in the hold whilst River, Kaylee and Simon are unpacking goods to take up to the living quarters.

"Well look a-here, Zoe!" Mal shouts loud enough for them all to hear. And bein' able to shout ain't nothin' neither. "Seems this lazy crew is capable of hard work after all."

"Cap'n!" Kaylee cries running over to him for a hug. "You should see what we got ... spare coils, new g-lines, boxes of pin-locks, even a coupla press regulators...."

"That's jus' dandy, li'l Kaylee." Mal gives her a squeeze and drops a kiss onto the top of her head. "But don't mean a damn thing to me. Still, long as you're happy..."

"Where's Jayne," Kaylee asks, looking out through the open door for a sign of the big man.

"Oh, he'll be back soon enough. Think he might be takin' full advantage of the fact folks with information is likely to be in bars." A big, indulgent smile. Mal raises his eyes up to see Simon looking at him intently, at the way he's holding Kaylee. The boy's jealous! Good. Might spur him into action before Kaylee loses all hope. He gives his mechanic an exaggerated wink. "Why don't you an' Simon get dinner started? Me an' Zoe'll finish off down here."

The hint is not lost on Kaylee. "Aye, aye Cap'n!" Then, softer, "Hope Jayne gets some news on Inara."

"Sure he will. I've got a good feelin' about this."

* * * *

The dining table is groaning under the weight of food. Mal pulls a face at Kaylee as he takes his seat. "You cook every gorram thing we got? They call 'em 'rations' cos you're s'posed to 'ration' them out," he explains, speaking slowly as if her grasp of English were less than comprehensive. "We ain't all got your prodigious appetite. Ever see her in front of a buffet table, Doc?" he asks, shaking his head sadly. "Like a Reaver!"

She admonishes his teasing with a swat to the side of his head as she puts a plate of –_ shensheng de gao wan_, is this steak? - in front of him.

"_Bizui_, Cap'n. Or you ain't gettin' any."

He catches her hand and presses something into it. "Not even if I got you a present?"

"Oh!" She looks down at the carefully wrapped package, all wide-eyed surprise.

"Got somethin' for you too, Doc," he announces, digging around in his pocket. "Here."

The look on Simon's face is priceless. Embarrassed, confused, pleased and distrustful all at the same time. He lifts the package from Mal's hand carefully, like it might explode in his face.

Mal huffs out a breath. He's not really the apologizing type. "Figured ... wanted to say ... well, I know I've been a mean old man of late.. specially to you two."

"You're not mean!" Kaylee exclaims.

"And you're not exactly old..." Simon adds.

"Well, go on. Open 'em."

Kaylee rips the layers of tissue from her gift excitedly to reveal a heart-shaped ceramic box, decorated with flowers in pastels shades. Utterly girlish. Exactly what she would have chosen herself. Mal looks awful smug at how well received it is.

Kaylee wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek warmly. "I love my Captain."

Then Simon scratches a nail against the tape securing the wrapping round his package and pulls it away to reveal a pair of sunglasses, almost exactly the same as the ones he was wearing the day he first came aboard Serenity.

The doctor is totally nonplussed. Because Mal clearly put some thought into this purchase. The idea that Mal might think about him more than he absolutely has to is amazing. In a not unpleasant way.

"Noticed how you screw your eyes up every time we're somewhere sunny. Don't want our one an' only doctor goin' blind because his crazy sister took against his eyewear that one time.."

Noticed him screwing up his eyes? Noticed?! "Thank you, it's very ..." He puts out a hand to touch Mal's arm but self-consciously pulls it back again. "Thoughtful. I don't how to ..."

"You'll think of somethin'." Mal sees Kaylee grinning at him approvingly. She don't ask much. Just that they all get along. He turns back to Simon. "So long as you ain't thinkin' of kissin' me too!"

"Somethin' about that is gorram unsettlin'," Jayne remarks as he enters the room.

"Don't sully a beautiful moment, Jayne," Zoe scolds, straight-faced.

Mal tenses visibly. "She here?" he asks Jayne, trying not to sound too eager.

"Nope. Took a ship out to Three Hill first chance she got."

"Three Hills?" Mal frowns. "Where in the _kuang de tian xi_ is that?"

"Ass-end of the galaxy," Jayne tells him, heaping food onto his plate. "Dirt poor. Worked there a while back."

"Point of interest. It used to be quite a prosperous place – in a Rim world kind of way," Wash interrupts, revelling in his superior knowledge. "Suffered heavy aerial bombardment during the war. Then the rebels used it as a stronghold for a while."

Zoe's nostrils flicker like she's got the scent of something that might be a threat. She shoots her husband a sideways look. "Rebels?" she asks mildly, her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her.

"Browncoats, mainly. A few from other factions," Wash elaborates. "They were driven out, of course, but some claim they went back.

Zoe can feel Book's eyes on her. Knows he too is trying to work out how this exchange and her husband fit together. She clasps her hands protectively over the still barely noticeable swell of her belly.

* * * * *

Even Mal notices the way every woman in this gorram town is staring at them. Or rather, at Jayne. From blushing young girls to stout matrons in floral bonnets, every one of 'em is casting coy, admiring looks in Jayne's direction. Might have left this sorry-ass rock years back but seems the mercenary's legend lives on.

"I ain't gonna turn a corner an' find another statue wearin' your ugly face, am I?" Mal asks out of the corner of his mouth as a particularly pretty girl gives Jayne an exaggerated wink.

"Wa'n't my face they was interested in!" Jayne tells him with a leer that makes Mal rolls his eyes in disbelief.

It being mid-morning, the saloon is almost empty when they walk in. An old fella is wiping down tables with a grubby cloth and a statuesque brunette is stacking shelves with bottled beers. She glances over her shoulder as the door creaks shut behind them, does a double-take and slaps her hands to her cheeks.

"Jayne Cobb! As I live an' breathe! What you doin' here again, you ol' rogue?" She rushes over to throw her arms around him.

"Lucinda May!" Jayne exclaims, thankful to remember her name. "What you doin' in town? Thought you'd still be workin' your momma's ranch."

"Aw, momma died a couple of years back. Came here lookin' for work..." A throaty laugh. ".. an' a man with your kind of talents, Jayne Cobb. Don't need to tell you there ain't many of them!" If she's aware of Mal's presence it doesn't show. "You lookin' for work? Cos me and my sisters still got the ranch."

"No, I got a job already. Flyin' on a transport ship."

"You got a ship?!" Lucinda looks amazed before a calculating light goes on behind her eyes. "Ain't goin' anywhere near Londinium are you?"

"No!" Mal exclaims. Set foot on that shiny core world crawling with feds? Not ruttin' likely!

Lucinda frowns and jerks her head towards Mal. "He one of your men?"

Mal bristles a bit at the suggestion. "In a manner of speakin'," he informs her. "Anyhow, we're lookin' for someone. A registered companion name of Inara Serra. You wou'n't have seen her, would you?"

Her reaction to the word companion tells Mal the woman certainly has seen her but it's clear Lucinda would rather deal with Jayne. "The boss needs to find her," he adds, indicating Jayne with a tilt of his head.

"Uh, yeah," Jayne agrees uneasily. "Need to find her real bad."

Lucinda smiles and walks her fingers slowly up the front of the big man's shirt. "Then I think we can do business. I tell you what I know about this companion ..." She lays a forefinger on Jayne's lips. "... an' you can help me move somethin' off-world. Now, let's go discuss it somewhere more private. Your man can wait down here..."

And then she's dragging Jayne towards the staircase that leads up from the saloon to rooms above. He shoots Mal a questioning look and receives a resigned nod of permission in reply.

They're gone for half an hour. The saloon is quiet and Mal can't help but hear the giggling, grunting, banging and knocking that follows. He chews on the skin around his nails and tries to concentrate on the view out of the window.

Finally Jayne and the woman reappear, him grinning from ear to ear and her smoothing down her hair and fastening buttons. Mal raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"Sounds like 'Nara was here, Mal. Hired a horse to ride out to the lake 'bout seven miles away. Never came back. Lucinda May's got a coupla mounts we can have to get out there. See what we can find..."

Mal's already out of his seat and heading for the door. "Well, come on then!"

Lucinda May helps them saddle up their rides and waves them off. "Don't forget our deal, Jayne Cobb!" she yells after them as they urge their horses into a gallop along the dust track that leads out from the town.

"None of my business," Mal says holding up a silencing hand as Jayne starts to speak. "Don't need the details."

Jayne grunts. "'Fraid you do, Mal. Wou'n't tell me a damn thing till I'd agreed we'd take half a dozen horses to Londinium for her."

* * * * *

His discovery that the shuttle door is locked elicits a minor blasphemy from Book. Oh well, one more sin isn't going to sway the Lord's opinion of him much. But – damn it! - if he had gained entry to Inara's rooms he might have discovered something to earn him a little credit with Mal. He finds he wants the Captain's good opinion surprisingly badly – and not just because his life may depend on it. Malcolm Reynolds may well be one of the best men he has ever met. Kind of man who does the right thing by instinct. Strange that a man with so little faith of his own inspires it in such abundance in those around him.

"It's locked." Zoe's voice makes the Shepherd start and he flinches under the accusation in her eyes. There is so much he would like to say to her but knows Zoe sets little store by mere words. Her good opinion is won with actions.

"Yes. I worked that out." His attempt at humour meets a flinty stare. He changes his approach. "Has anyone searched Inara's shuttle? Might learn what her intent was regarding your husband."

Zoe's expression doesn't change. Only the slight jut of her chin betrays how much she would like to punch the preacher.

"No. Cap'n don't take kindly to people's privacy bein' invaded."

"Unless he's doing it himself," Book points out.

"Unless he's doin' it himself," Zoe agrees. "But he's the Cap'n. Gives him the right."

"Think they'll find her?"

Zoe's eyes fill with concern for Mal and something more dangerous. "Might be better if they didn't."

"I'm a fair judge of character," Books says quietly. "I believe Inara is a good person. That whatever Jayne thinks he saw, she wasn't trying to harm Wash."

Zoe stiffens. "Think you and me might have a different notion of goodness, preacher."

* * * * *

The sun is beating down, bouncing a shimmering haze up from the sand. Mal reins in his horse and feels the sweat trickle between his shoulder blades. It don't make sense. Inara – out here? Why'd she wanna come to a deserted spot like this? Despite the heat, Mal shivers.

Ahead of him Jayne swings down from the saddle and bends to examine tracks in the dust. Above them the blue, blue sky stretches out silently to the distant horizons.

In the moments before Mal waits, poised on a sharp edge of hope.

He hardly dares breathe. As if the slightest inhalation could make this real. Set it in stone.

Jayne disappears behind the rocky outcrop and he waits. Balanced, thinking he's prepared if he has to fall.

Jayne reappears. He has removed his hat and for a moment stands looking down at his feet, shaking his head. Then his mouth is moving. Words are coming out. Shouting, yelling, cursing, raging. Mal's tongue goes dry and he can't swallow.

He tries to keep it all in. Resist the urge to run and scream. Tries to just let it be. Let himself face it.  
His hands clench at his side.

Jayne disappears behind the rocks again and when he re-emerges he's carrying her like a child in his arms. Her head lolls unnaturally backwards and bounces slightly with each step the mercenary takes. The soft fabric of her skirt flutters against limp limbs.

And then Mal is falling, heavy as a stone. Too late to save her, too late to save himself. From the past, from this place. Without and within everything is rushing. He can't breathe. Can't move. In too deep.

A shudder and he implodes. All the warmth and light drains from him as he spirals downward into the black hole. Into the nothing that wants him back. Into pain so intense he loses himself to it.


	17. A Different Strategy

Light as a ghost, River follows them as they carry the body into the infirmary. Mal supporting the head and shoulders, Jayne holding the legs. She lets out a hiss as if in pain as they lay it down on the exam table. "It hurt."

Simon is mortified. There are times when, much as he loves her, he'd like to duct-tape his sister's mouth shut. Mal seems not to have heard but all the same Simon grabs River by the shoulders and tries to push her out of the room. "Shh, _mei-mei_. Don't ..." Don't make it worse. Don't use that unnatural gift of yours to channel her dying thoughts. I can't bear it. He can't bear it. Shouldn't have to.

"The wanting," River attempts to clarify as he shuts the door on her.

Mal cocks his head to one side and frowns. "Not sure this is her, Jayne." He shakes his head. "Not in this light. Mouth's all wrong."

Simon's blood runs cold. Of course it's her. Those are her clothes, her jewellery. Who in the _diyu_ else would it be? Granted, she's battered and bloodied and her eyelids have swollen shut but there can be no doubt. Not unless you have a desperate need to believe otherwise.

Mal folds his arms high across his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. "No. Definitely not her. Can't be. You ever see her wear this thing?"

Only a few times, Mal, but yes, I've seen her wear it, Simon wants to tell him. Only he doesn't. The thought that he might be the one to burst the Captain's bubble is too painful. The truth will hit him soon enough. Slam into him and flatten him with its horror. For now, let him cling to his disbelief.

"I'll..I'll clean her up. If you like." Simon offers, more because doing something – anything – is better than simply standing here, looking at the ruin of that beautiful, graceful woman he considered a friend.

Mal nods solemnly. "Good idea, Doc. Make her decent. Sure her folks would appreciate that."

Simon catches Jayne's eye but the mercenary looks quickly away, embarrassed "I'll tell the Preacher to come in," he mumbles. "Say a few words. When you're done, Doc."

* * * * *

If Kaylee doesn't stop wailing soon, Zoe fears she may have to slap her. Bad enough trying to deal with her own sense of guilt at having wanted to gouge out Inara's eyes and slice a blade across her throat now she's seen the horrible fate the Companion met. Having to listen to Kaylee give vent to her grief is too much. The noise is not loud, but incessant and enervating. Like nails being scraped endlessly down a blackboard. Pointless, useless noise that jangles around in Zoe's brain, stopping her from thinking straight. It feels like someone is bowing a razor blade across every fibre of her nervous system.

The mechanic is rocking backwards and forwards, oblivious to anything other than her own misery. More'n a mite self-indulgent Zoe thinks sharply before reminding herself that Kaylee ain't used to death. Ain't seen the things she and Mal have. Never had to endure loss like this before. She hopes she doesn't sound too hard as she places a hand on the girl's back and says quietly, "Gotta try to calm down, Kaylee. This ain't helpin' no-one. You ain't the only one hurtin'."

Through the infirmary windows she sees Mal standing silently at the end of the exam table. Looking down at the body lying on it, his face empty of all emotion. Observing Simon with detached interest as he begins the task of cleaning away caked on blood and dirt. Zoe has seen him like this before. Shut down, like none of it touches him. Almost convincing himself. She wishes this time – this time especially - he would let the pain boil up and spill over, instead of letting it burn out another piece of his heart.

Kaylee sniffles, swiping a hand across her eyes and nose. It comes away glistening with tears and snot. Still racked with sobs, she gulps in air and tries to be strong. Think of the others. It doesn't help that the first person her gaze falls on is Mal. One look at him is all it takes to make her dissolve again.

Jayne feels awkward, too big and rough-made to be able to handle this with the delicacy it needs. He takes a step towards Kaylee, then draws back feeling utterly inadequate. Wishes the gorram doctor was out here, puttin' them book-learned fancy words of his to good use, instead of in the infirmary with a woman who's dead already and a man who might as well be. Mal – poor bastard. Don't wanna think about what he's gonna go through. Nor about what he might do to the person he thinks responsible for this unfortunate turn of events. Jayne's muscles twitch as adrenalin pumps through them at the prospect.

* * * * *

Simon drops the last of the cotton wool swabs into a metal bowl and stands back. In some ways she looks much better. In others worse. The general disfigurement has been replaced by individual injuries and lots of them. Simon bites the inside of his cheek as he contemplates the damage. How could one human being do this to another? It sickens him.

Mal sniffs and clears his throat.

"Looks like Jayne was right, after all," he concedes. "That's Inara, right enough. Now, how d'we wake her up, Doc? Cos I'm feelin' a pressin' need to call on the fella that did this. Have a bit of a sit-down and explain a few things to him."

The doctor's eyes widen with alarm. Mal thinks Inara is unconscious. He's been standing there for heaven knows how long during which time she hasn't taken a single breath nor moved at all. Her lips are blue and her skin cold. Since when has the Captain been stupider than Jayne?

"W-wake her?" he stutters.

"Yeah. You know – give her the antidote. Like we did with you an' River on Ariel." He bends down to take a closer look at Inara's face. "Looks like the Alliance've been workin' on that drug you took – what they call it?"

"Byphodine," Simon replies, automatically, inappropriately.

"Yeah, that's the stuff. Byphodine. Seems to've had a bit of an upgrade. She looks a lot deader than you did."

The door slides open and River pops her head around the frame. "Does Is."

"Not now, _mei-mei_," Simon growls through gritted teeth, but River will not be silenced. She glides over to the exam table and lifts Inara's right hand. "Over. Over. Three times over."

"River..."

She tilts a still, tranquil face towards Mal. "Drink what you have to drink and turn the glass over."

Mal isn't ready to accept the cup's there, let alone drink from it. "Uh-huh. Your brother's kinda busy here, River. You understand?"

"She understands. He does not." She takes his warm hands in her cold ones. "Gone, Mal. Flown away."

"What she ...?" Mal begins to ask turning to Simon but the agony in the medic's eyes as he tries to avoid the question gives him all the answer he needs. He blinks hard twice, but there are no tears. He sucks in his cheeks and breathes in deeply, nostrils flaring as he fights the turmoil inside him. His mouth sets in a hard line.

Simon's heart twists in his chest. The Captain thinks he's so good at hiding his feelings, shutting people out. But his face is so mobile, his eyes so expressive, that every emotion is plain to see for those interested enough to look. And right now the emotion is searing pain, tangled up with guilt and regret. Simon reaches out a hand but Mal jerks away, unwilling to relinquish control. If he were in physical pain, Simon would know what to do. Like as not it would be refused, but he could at least offer the man something to ease his suffering. But neither of them is good at dealing with emotional distress. Neither has Kaylee's facility for a sympathetic touch nor her ability to deliver a kind word. Simon would so like to be able to comfort the Captain, reassure him that breaking down would be natural, healthy. If River were in pain like this he would cradle her in his arms, stroke her hair but Mal is a grown man. A war-hardened veteran and, what's more, the Captain ...

Book enters the room, Bible in hand, and Mal goes rigid.

The Shepherd's face creases with distress as he looks over at Inara. He crosses himself instinctively and instantly regrets it, knowing how Mal objects to such overt displays of faith. He eyes the Captain warily. "I could come back later ..."

Mal's lip curls into a sneer. "No, come in Preacher. Come an' see what some _tamade hundan_ did to Inara whilst your God was lookin' the other way. Bit damn late for the sonofabitch to show an interest now." He strides over to Book, seizes him by the elbow and propels him up against the exam table. "Look at that. How's that fit in with your notion of God?"

Book's notion of God is too complex, too difficult and challenging to debate with Mal right now. He holds his tongue, but his soft, brown eyes grow moist.

"I'm gonna find out who did this. Put a bullet in his brainpan. Eventually."

"It won't help, son. Won't help her. Nor you."

"Might help stop the_ wangba dan de biao zi_ from hirin' hisself another Companion an' doin' the same .." Mal's voice quavers slightly and he clamps his mouth shut.

Book has been trying not to look at the scars and bruises, but in the awkward silence that follows his eyes are drawn irresistibly to them. They bring back things better forgotten. Full of dread, he raises his eyes and asks Simon "Are there other injuries?"

In reply, Simon lifts the torn fabric of Inara's shirt to reveal a series of .. well, holes. Whether they are burns or cuts it's hard to say. Mal's teeth grind audibly and Book recoils with a sharp intake of breath. He knows what did this.

"I ... I've not had time for a full examination but ..." Simon glances at Mal nervously " .. there are multiple fractures of the hands and feet."

Is this it then? Judgement Day? Book can hear the devils cackle and smell the sulphur as he whispers hoarsely, "I recognise this."

* * * * *

Jayne is on his way to the exercise bench when there's a loud banging on the airlock. Zoe looks wary but Jayne recognizes the female face that peers through the toughened glass. "We had a deal, Jayne Cobb!" it mouths.

Zoe hits a button and the door opens. Lucinda May stalks in, right past Zoe and up to Jayne. "You gorram _hundan_! Thinkin' off takin' off without the goods..." She pauses as the atmosphere of general depression hits her. "What's goin' on here?"

"Good question," Zoe says crisply, advancing on her. "Who are you? An' what's your business here?"

Lucinda May tosses her hair haughtily. "My business is with the Captain." Mal is still in the infirmary, glaring at the Preacher and Zoe is about to tell her the Captain is otherwise engaged when she continues "Jayne Cobb, we shook on that deal. You're takin' them mares to Londinium or I'll ..."

"Captain? Londinium?" Zoe gasps. "We ain't goin' to Londinium..."

"Yes. Yes we are." Suddenly Mal is standing there, all grim resolution. Zoe freezes. What in the _tian xia_ is he thinkin'?

"Sir..?"

"Good a place as any. Need a job. Don't much care what it is. Long as we keep flyin'."

* * * * *

_Recording wave – now._

"Hello again, Daddy. 'S Kaylee here. Hope y'all are well an' ... oh, Daddy! I'm so ... Wish I could see you. Somethin' terrible's happened. Inara – 'member I told you about her? The Registered Companion? - well, she's ... she got ... Somebody killed her Daddy! An' she was the sweetest, loveliest thing... We was in the middle o' nowhere, so we had to do the funeral our own selves. Everyone was cryin' an' so, so sad. River – well, she went a bit crazy. Cap'n had to wrap In.. the body.. in his coat to stop her from screamin' at him. He's takin' it awful bad, Daddy. Been lockin' himself in her shuttle. Saw him through the door, holdin' onto that le se tin we put her ashes in lookin' like he wanted to crawl in there with 'em. He don't say nothin' to the rest of us, but I jus' know his heart is breakin'. Wish I could do somethin' ... Best keep busy, I guess. We got cargo. Half a dozen brood mares we're shippin' to Londinium. Ain't never been there before. Hear it's real fancy. Don't know if the Cap'n'll let us sight-see. Says he'll take the horses to the buyer on his own. Well, guess I'd better go check on the engine. Got lots of new parts, but my baby still needs a lot o' nursin'. Bye, Daddy. I love you."

Wave recording successful. Send now?

_Sending..._

* * * * *

"Malcolm Reynolds is a most extraordinary man. I shall be sorry when his part in the game comes to an end. Working with him is most stimulating."

"Men like him are ten a penny. We'll find a replacement easily enough."

"Oh, I think not, Parkin. Did I tell you he's on his way to Londinium? Yes, I thought that would surprise you. Supposedly delivering stock to a stud farm. However, I think his intentions may be of a more .. violent ... nature."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, let us piece the information together. The whore gets caught 'attacking' ," Rantoong airquotes with podgy fingers, "the pilot. Now instead of being glad to be rid of her, Captain Reynolds flies half-way round the galaxy looking for her. To me, that indicates personal involvement of a fairly serious nature. Our gallant hero finds her but alas! she is dead. Now, here's where it gets interesting. That tame Browncoat of yours has a female on his team who, though not Alliance trained, has had first hand experience of their torture techniques. And fortunately for us, there are two people on Reynolds' crew capable of telling him exactly what was done to the whore and of making an educated guess as to who might have done it. The Doctor and the Preacher. I'm fairly sure they've helped him conclude it was the work of the hated ..." his mouth twitches with relish .. "the 'Evil' Alliance. And now I think the good Captain may be planning to strike at the very heart of said Alliance. Even if he dies in the attempt."

"I hope he's not thinking of using explosives," Parkin muses. "We need a body. Think of the hysteria a Browncoat assault on Londinium would cause." He rubs his bony hands together like a miser gloating over gold. "By the way, how is the Corporation doing?"

"Orders up twenty-five percent since Noe's death. Even got a big order for handguns and intruder sensors from Beaumonde – and I don't need to remind you how complacent they've been about security. I think we're doing rather well."

They sit in contented silence for a few minutes and Rantoong flips through the album of photographs on his lap. He quickly finds what he was looking for and passes the book across to his colleague. "This girl," he taps a picture of an elfin-faced redhead, "has proved most useful. If a little too volatile to be a long term prospect for our usual operations. I fear the balance of her mind may have been disturbed. Which of course makes her an ideal candidate for Rim work. Help push out the tentacles a little further each year."

"I'll have her brought in."

* * * * *

Zoe is sitting on the bed turning something over in her hands when Wash finally calls it a night. "What ya got there, proto-Mom?" he asks, trying to sound more upbeat than he feels. To his horror, Zoe bites her lip as if she might cry. Now, Wash can count the number of times he's seen his wife cry on the fingers of one .. finger. This must mean it's bad. Really bad.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks, sitting down beside her.

She turns and gazes at him, as if weighing up his ability to deal with what she has to say. "Cap'n gave us the ship."

"He what?!"

"He gave us the ship. And – for some reason I ain't too clear on – this." She holds out a small carving of a mare and foal. "Said he wa'n't plannin' on leavin' Londinium his own self. Said we should have Serenity. Pass her down to our children."

Wash laughs. A humourless, nervous kind of laugh. "Why'd he wanna do a thing like that?"

"Think he's plannin' on evenin' the score," Zoe replies. "According to the Shepherd, those were Alliance torture techniques used on Inara. Seems like it wa'n't no crazed client after all. More of a planned attack." Zoe is so lost in her own thoughts she doesn't see the thrill of dread that goes through her husband. "Mal's back in the dark place, Wash. Only this time it's so dark, I don't think he wants to come out. Says he's going down alone onto Londinium. Reckons delivering the horses'll give him access to even the most secure zones."

"_Wo de ma he ta de feng kuang de wai sheng duo_!" Wash leaps to his feet and starts pacing the bunk anxiously. "You don't think...No, no. He wouldn't." His voice trails off as the realization dawns. They both know that in his present state Mal very well might. "You could assume command," he suggests hopefully. "Seein' as the Captain's gone all_ feng kuang_ and psychotic."

Zoe shakes her head. "Don't wanna push him. I do that, an' he's like to take off in the shuttle. Gotta play along for now. It's a long way to Londinium. Gives us time to find something to change his mind."

Wash sits back down, his shoulders slumped forwards. "I don't wanna go to Londinium..."

"Neither do I, _baobei_," Zoe agrees, but he's not listening to her. He's finally acknowledging he's not so much concerned about the Captain's pain, the Shepherd's past, River's proficiency with firearms or Inara's terrible death. Selfish as it sounds, right now he's concerned about his own skin.

"I don't wanna go to Londinium. I don't even wanna be in orbit around Londinium. Jayne stopped Inara from poisoning me and now she's dead. Killed by someone workin' for the Alliance. Which means they didn't just say "Oh well, never mind, let's forget all about it then and have a nice cup of tea." I think they're still coming for me, Zoe. Which makes me kinda terrified. An' I don't know why. Which makes me even more terrified. What did I ever do to the Alliance?"

Zoe puts the carving carefully down on the bedside table. "Good question. Been wonderin' about that my own self ..."

* * * * *

Although it's unnecessary, Kaylee is tinkering with the engine. It gives her something to occupy her mind, something solid and familiar to hang onto. And it keeps her out of Mal's way. Their easy friendship ought to be a solace at a time like this but the love they have for each other is just making Inara's death harder to bear. When he thinks he's alone, Mal's mask of resigned control slips. Kaylee's come across him hiding out in one of Serenity's numerous nooks and crannies more than once and has been shocked by the desolation in his eyes. Those lively, twinkling blue eyes – now devoid of all their light and fire. Dull. Flat. Hopeless.

First time she acted on instinct. Wrapped herself around him, sobbing, sharing the devastating ache. But he went all Captainy and protective and began trying to comfort her instead. And – gorramit! - di'n't that kindness make her cry all the harder? When she could weep no more, she raised her face from the damp patch she'd made on his shirt, intending to tell him that he wasn't alone, that they were all there for him and wanting to help him bear it.

The expression she saw on his face scared her. Emptiness and isolation. And behind it a simmering, cold fury. Emotions beyond her understanding.

* * * * *

Simon rounds a corner and walks slap-bang into Kaylee. It's clear she's been crying again: her face is flushed and her eyes bloodshot. "You okay?" he asks gently.

She sniffs and nods. "Fine." And, bless her, she gives him a feeble smile. Because she can always smile for Simon.

He appraises her with a doctor's eye. "No you're not," he tells her, pushing back a lock of hair that has stuck to her cheek, damp with tears. "You're shaking."

"I'm all right," she insists, a little impatiently.

He smiles kindly at her. "I could give you something to help, you know. Just to tide you over for a few weeks."

"Think the Cap'n needs it more'n me," she replies, looking towards the bridge where she knows Mal is sitting, staring out into the Black, thinking all manner of desperate thoughts.

"Agreed. But he won't accept help," he says, following her gaze. "You know, Inara once told me she thought he liked being lost in the woods..."

"He don't!" Kaylee exclaims loudly, bursting into tears again and trembling violently.

"That's it," Simon decides. "I'm giving you a smoother and then you're going to your bunk. You need to rest."

* * * * *

Even after all these months, Simon still has difficulty in identifying the strange noise that fills his ears on waking. Every morning the low, throbbing hum of Serenity's engine comes as a surprise.

His shoulder aches. Must have slept in an awkward position. He turns over, trying to get more comfortable but there's no room. In fact there's a soft, warm limb occupying the place where his leg should be. It takes a few seconds to realize it's not River's leg against his foot but Kaylee's. Oh yes. That certainly qualifies as sleeping in an awkward position!

He opens one eye cautiously. She's still asleep, snoring gently. He can feel her warm breath against his neck. She is so very pretty. So utterly beguiling in her trusting openness. When Kaylee smiles the 'verse is full of stars. When she cries, it's nothing but blackness. No wonder he was willing to do anything to make her smile. Because making Kaylee happy is easily achieved. She's not Mal. A hug, a little kiss. Then another. And another. He didn't plan for anything to happen. Not that anything did happen exactly. His mind was elsewhere. She was too upset. It would have been taking advantage. And yet here he is. In her bunk.

The challenge now is to extricate himself with the minimum of fuss and without anyone finding out.

There's a noise in the hallway above. Then a voice. "Kaylee – you awake?" Mal. _Zao cao_!

Simon sits up, nudges Kaylee and whispers, "Kaylee. Wake up. It's Mal ..."

She opens her eyes, momentarily bewildered at seeing Simon there. In her bunk. In her bed. Then a slow, contented smile steals across her lips and she reaches an arm up to pull him down into a kiss.

Flustered, he reaches around the back of his neck to disentangle himself from her grip. "It's Mal," he whispers urgently. "Up there," he gestures with his head. "Calling for you."

"Wha's up, Cap'n?" There's a twinkle in her eye. A twinkle that says she's all aware of how petrified Simon is of the Captain finding him here.

"Got a job for you. Need you to decrypt a wave."

"Sure thing, Cap'n. Be up soon. Jus' gotta get some clothes on." She twinkles again and raises her eyebrows suggestively at Simon because they're both half naked under the sheets. "See to a few things." She wriggles up against the doctor and slides a hand down his chest whilst he squirms uncomfortably. What in the _diyu_ was he thinking? Just how complicated does he want his life to get? As if River and Mal weren't enough to fill his every waking thought.

"See to them later," Mal shouts down. "This here wave's from House Madrassa. From someone called Pianhu, claiming to be an old friend of 'Nara's."

The provocative smile Kaylee is directing at Simon freezes on her face. She's fairly sure neither she nor Mal is ready for this.

* * * * *

Time to find out the truth. This gorram thing's been burnin' a ruttin' whole in his pocket for the past three days. Time he asked Simon his opinion on the damn thing. What in the 'verse is this syringe for?

He was surprised when he found it. Thought if what Jayne said was right, Inara'd've taken it with her. But no, it was locked up in the bedside drawer all this time. Was she expecting to come back? Was she gonna try to kill Wash again?

On the other hand, maybe Pianhu's fears were well founded and she was plannin' to herself. The thought makes Mal shudder. Don't wanna think of 'Nara as weak. No – as having been weak. But that wave from Pianhu has set him thinkin' about suicide. And about a fella name of Doran ...

Tears him up inside, thinkin' on it too hard.

"Captain," Simon greets him. The pity in those blue eyes riles Mal more'n a little. "What can I do for you? You know, some of these smoothers are very mild ..."

"Don't want no smoother," Mal snaps, eyes darkening at the implication. "Here." He holds out the box containing the syringe and slaps it down onto Simon's palm as the doctor reaches out to take it.

Simon frowns. "What is it?" he asks, flipping open the lid.

"You're the doctor. You tell me."

"I'll have to run some tests."

"Fine. Make 'em quick." Mal is about to go, when he stops. Turns around, hesitating.

"Was there something else?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For this. For what you did for ... you know, cleanin' her up ... examinin' her. Can't have been easy ..."

For once Simon is bold enough to make the gesture. He crosses the room and touches Mal's arm. It feels good to do it. Mal doesn't pull away. And that feels good too. "It's okay, Mal. It's what you pay for me, after all."

* * * * *

Mal is leaning over the railings, staring down at the horses penned in the makeshift corral Jayne built in the cargo bay. She can feel the guilt in him, hear him tell himself he ought to be getting them to Londinium right away. That it ain't fair to keep beasts cooped up too long. But he's made his decision. And Wash has plotted a new course. He's trying to convince himself it ain't too much out of their way. Sihnon first, then Londinium. Her brother doesn't know his part in it yet. Mal thinks it's best not to get the boy all agitated before he has to.

River claps her hands to the side of her head as Mal's confusion floods into her. Feels his fear that if he doesn't get to the bottom of this he's gonna go crazy. Crazier. There are so many questions he needs answers to. River sighs. Pianhu's wave would make sense if only he would let it. If he weren't trying to push the square peg through a round hole.

She wishes he understood her like she understands him. She could guide him through this. Find the wood that's lost in the trees. But words scramble her thoughts. She sees them knit into textures so dark and impenetrable it's no wonder he can't follow her.

Simon wants to help but can't. He tells him half-truths because, for all his scientific and medical expertise, they're all he knows. Told Mal the syringe is filled with poison. One man's meat is another man's poison. For Wash, the syringe holds meat. Bitter, rotten meat – but meat nonetheless.

River sways as another wave of doubt crashes over Mal. She closes her eyes and sees a greasy mountain of a man, and behind him a shadowy form. Mal's heart warms with gratitude. He trusts this man. Trusts him with his life. Who goes there? Friend or foe? Friend. No, comrade. Brother in arms. The man-mountain offers condolences Mal can accept and the troubled waters grow still. But the sun casts a long blue shadow on them and beneath their surface a dark shadow swims. Words are cast on a long line - "exceptional woman", "brave", "an honour to have know her" - and the fish snaps. It's caught on the line and reeled in, wriggling. Mal balks at the idea of gutting it, at finding out the man-mountain has stuffed it full of lies.

Instead he chooses confusion. Takes refuge in letting his brain spin like a gorram top. River opens her eyes and smiles as she hears him think of her with sympathy.

"It doesn't mean what you think."

He starts, spins round, looks relieved then irritated all in rapid succession. "You sure do creep about," he complains. "Have to get that brother of yours to put a bell round your neck. Warn folk you're comin'."

River smiles sweetly. "The object. It doesn't mean what you think," she repeats.

"Uh-huh." If he don't play along, perhaps she'll go away.

"Because she never minded the gap. Fell regardless." She lowers her chin and looks up at him, widening her eyes for emphasis. "Loved you."

His hands tighten on the railing. "Stop it." He struggles against the anguish that threatens to overwhelm him and turns to her. "Go back to your quarters. Now."

Instead of obeying, she takes a step towards him, closing the gap between them. Presses her body flush up against his. Startled, he puts his hands on her shoulders to push her away, but she reaches a hand up into his hair and twists it round her fingers. And stretches up on tiptoes to kiss him.

Again with the button pushing. He hates the way she can do this. Like she can read his mind, his every desire. It ain't seemly. Least of all now.

"Not just your heart. Hers too. Wanted that," she tells him."Inara. Always wanted it."

She knows he's going to fall. Braces herself to steady him. Lets him lean into her fragile strength, rest his head against the silk of her hair.

"None of it means a damn thing now," he mutters bleakly, holding onto her tightly..

Slender arms enfold him gently. "Does. Will," she promises.

* * * * *

Exiting the infirmary, Simon catches sight of them out of the corner of his eye. The Captain and his sister. He turns swiftly on his heel and retreats back inside. Starts reorganizing perfectly neatly stocked shelves. Counting bandages. Checking supplies.

And tries to think of something – anything – else.


	18. Discovered

"Oh, well done, hubby! You've just royally screwed us!"

"Huh? How?"

"You sent Malcolm Reynolds your condolences! You stupid _houzi de pigu_!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You said nice things about Inara, you piece of crap! Mal had no idea you'd even heard of her, let alone knew her personally! It isn't going to take him long now to connect us – you – to her death."

"I didn't want her dead ... You didn't have to go that far, Bridget. You only had to find out about the syringe ... You've broken his heart, you know that, don't you?"

"Pah! Malcolm Reynolds doesn't have a heart!"

"Well, that's where you're wrong ... Jus' cuz he di'n't fall for your charms ..."

"You know something? He had me wonderin' if he might be sly. But I guess you'd know for sure. What with you two bein' such close buddies."

"I ain't sly! Looks like the ol' sayin's true - Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Monty, sweetheart, sometimes I think you have absolutely no smarts at all. For me, this was never about Mal. It's always been about the Malleus. Breaking up that self-satisfied crew was jus' a bonus!"

"Hey! Where ya goin'?"

"I'm leaving you."

"But you promised to love, honour and obey, Bridget. Gorramit, you married me!"

"You an' a dozen others.'Bye, peaches. Don't try to find me."

* * * * *

If only there were a mirror in his bunk Simon would know just how ridiculous he looks. As it is, he can only imagine. Everything pinches and nips. These pants – the best he has – cling in ways he fears may well be obscene. Trying to walk normally in them is impossible. And this shirt – his shiny silk shirt – is so tight he can clearly see the outline of his nipples.

He blames the woeful lack of laundry facilities on Serenity and wonders briefly whether these garments should ever have been placed in soapy water. Having to wash his own clothes is one of the many humiliations life as a fugitive has brought him.

Then again, he's been doing more physical work than at any time in his life. Always had people to fetch and carry for him before. Now he's called on to lug crates about, move equipment and generally help out with whatever needs doing. Maybe he has better muscle definition than before?

The door slides open and River enters. Her eyes flicker quickly over him and light up with amusement. "You look ridiculous!" she snickers, diverting him from delivering the lecture he'd prepared about the advisability at keeping some distance between herself and the Captain at a time when he's emotionally vulnerable and likely to make bad judgements. How come she's alway lucid when teasing him? "Kaylee! Come and see Simon!"

Kaylee is there in a heartbeat. Her eyes grow wide and she presses her lips tightly together as she tries not to laugh. She is not entirely successful. "Mornin', Doctor Tightpants!" she splutters.

Simon flushes. "I can't do this ..," he gestures helplessly.

"'Course you can," Kaylee tells him with an encouraging smile. "You look real _shuai_. Jus' like one of Inara's clients..." Her voice catches at the thought of her friend but she pulls herself together valiantly and smiles again. "'S your kinda world, after all." He's still looking mighty uneasy, so she starts adjusting his clothing ever so slightly, fussing over him, for all the world like an attentive girlfriend. Which only makes him more awkward.

"Tha's you. All ready," she declares and finally she's not touching him any more. "Let's go find the Cap'n."

Simon takes a deep breath and steps out into the hallway.

River nudges Kaylee. "Cake's not done baking," she tells her confidentially. "Eating it before it's ready'll only lead to indigestion. Everyone knows that."

* * * * *

"What the hell ya doin' preacher?" Jayne demands, as he descends the stairs into the cargo bay. "How many times I gotta tell you, you need someone to spot you? Them weights ain't Bibles you know."

"I can manage ..." Book pants but his arms are being to shake from the effort of pushing the dumbbell up from his chest.

"I don't think so. Here, let me get that for you." Jayne lifts the weight with one hand and replaces it on the rack. Book lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"You in a hurry to meet the Lord?" Jayne asks, glaring him. _Yu ben de_ preacher's gonna kill himself at this rate. "I can't hardly lift that one more'n thirty times."

"Thought it best to keep out of people's way. In the circumstances," Book explains, keeping his voice low so that Wash and Zoe, engaged in a serious conversation of their own, don't hear him. "Didn't want to put you in an awkward position."

"Hell, Preacher. I di'n't fight in no war. I ain't interested in politics. Nor by-gones. What you did to them women – well, way I see it – they was the enemy. They'd've done the same to you given the chance. Or handed you over to them as would. You was jus' doin' your job."

"Following orders," Book agrees bitterly. "Not really an excuse."

"Yeah, well, not my concern. Personally, I'm glad you know one end of a gun from the other. Not like some we got on board ..."

Right on cue, Simon appears at the top of the stairs. Jayne takes one look at him and curses softly.

"Oh, my!" Book breathes.

Mal, who's been feeding the horses, looks up. "You all set, son? Got the cash?" Simon nods and holds up the briefcase he's carrying. "Well, come on then. Ain't got all day."

As Simon makes his way down to the cargo bay, Mal addresses Jayne. "Mighty good of you to contribute your own coin towards this venture, Jayne. Specially since you'da liked the job yourself."

Jayne grins. "You know me, Mal. Anythin' for my crew. 'Sides, look at him! Dressed like that he's likely to earn more'n he spends!"

Mal scrutinizes his medic who fidgets uncomfortably as Mal's eyes rake over him. Jayne ain't wrong. In them clothes, Doc might well get mistaken for a boy-whore. "Best put a coat on, Simon," he advises. "Zoe, lend him yours, will ya? Ain't so brown as mine."

Wash shoots Zoe a meaningful look which she ignores. "Can't do that, Sir. Be needin' it myself."

"Zoe!" Wash exclaims. "Thought we'd talked this through..."

She resolutely refuses to meet his eye and instead turns to Mal.

"It's a Core planet, Sir. You need someone to watch your back. Besides, ain't like there's gonna be any trouble. They arrest you for walking funny" - is Simon imagining everyone glancing at him? - "on central planets."

Mal shakes his head. "You ain't comin' Zoe. Sihnon's crawlin' with feds. Can't risk you getting' into a fight. Doin' somethin' that might harm the baby ..."

Zoe's eyes smoulder mutinously but she starts peeling off her coat. Wash's smoulder with annoyance. More of that obeyin' going on. Right under his nose! The fact that Mal's getting her to do what he himself wanted is no damn consolation at all.

"He loses that coat, Sir ... gets anything nasty on it," Zoe growls at Mal, "You're buyin' me a new one."

* * * * *

The sight of Zoe always makes his heart beat a little faster. Normally with desire. Today the desire's undeniably there, but also a tiny helping of – not fear, exactly – more like wariness.

"We did agree ..." he starts, all reasonable husband, reaching out for her.

She steps back. Right now she could beat Mal in a glowering contest. "We agreed I wou'n't go anywhere dangerous," she corrects him, planting each word like she's laying mines. "Sihnon is the most orderly, least dangerous planet in the whole damn 'verse. Besides, don't like bein' told what I can an' can't do."

"Except when it's Mal doin' the tellin'!" Wash is in danger of losing his temper. "Don't tell me it's cuz he's the Captain. It goes deeper than that. Truth is, you respect him more than you do me. Your own husband!"

"He earned it!" she flings back. "You've got no idea .. What is was like... The war."

"Oh, here we go. The gorram war again!" Damn but she's beautiful when she's mad. "The war is over. You lost. We won. Forget it!" Not to mention hot.

Zoe looks stunned. "We won?" she asks. "What'n the _diyu_ d'you mean by that?"

Wash doesn't know. His blood is racing all sorts of places it shouldn't be in the middle of a row. He shrugs helplessly. "I don't know, woolie-tum. The ordinary folk, I guess..."

Zoe shakes her head. "There's something you're not tellin' me. Like how come you know about military aircraft recognition procedures. Why you called the Independents 'rebels'. And what about you wearin' a uniform? Think that little snippet wouldn't get back to me?"

"This is crazy!" Wash pulls at his hair. "You're talkin' crazy."

Zoe shakes her head. Her eyes narrow, but the anger has left them, replaced by suspicion, calculation. "The Shepherd mentioned somethin' after the two of you got me and Mal out of jail. Think he was tryin' to suss out which side you was on in case he ever had to tell us his story..."

Wash goes silent. And in the silence he had the oddest sensation – or is it a recollection? – of coarse, heavy linen against his skin. There's a feeling that goes with it ... a feeling of pride. No, this is crazy! He never wore a uniform in his entire life!

Zoe is watching him carefully, her eyes tracking every emotion that passes across his face. He meets her eye and she smiles gently at him. Then she takes him in her arms and kisses his cheek. "Remember when River hijacked the shuttle?" she asks. He nods. "Remember you knew how to track through the Black?" He nods again. "Remember how?"

"Standard military aircraft recognition procedures..." he says, as if repeating something he's learnt by rote. His mouth falls open in dismay and his face is a picture of distress. "How do I know a good gorram about military procedures, Zoe? What in the _tian xiao de_ does this mean?"

"Don't know, _baobei_," she replies, frowning slightly. "But I think it might have somethin' to do with Inara tryin' to kill you. She seemed mighty interested in you knowin' about those procedures too."

* * * * *

"Can't you jus' ..?" Aware that any verbal comment on the way Simon is walking might make the boy even more twitchy, Mal tries to demonstrate what he means by throwing his head back, squaring his shoulders and adopting a bit of a swagger as they walk along.

"No, Mal, I really can't!" Simon snaps at him. "I'm not sure I can do this at all."

Mal puts a reassuring hand on his back. Even through Zoe's coat (which looks better on him than he'd expected), Simon can feel its heat. "Okay, son. Calm down. All you gotta do is go in, book a session with Pianhu and talk to her."

"It's just not my kind of place, Mal," Simon says hoping for a last minute reprieve.

Mal grunts. "Not my kinda place either."

Curiosity gets the better of the doctor. "Really? You seemed comfortable enough at the Heart of Gold. I thought you and Nan..."

"Different kinda place, altogether," Mal tells him gruffly, making it clear they ain't goin' down that road. "Here we are. In you go." And he gives Simon a little shove towards the door. "I'll wait out here."

Simon's stomach flips over and his armpits prickle. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably against his collar. Then he takes a deep breath and makes for the entrance to House Madrassa, leaving Mal alone to pace the street anxiously. To torture himself with the thought that every man who enters might once have been one of Inara's clients.

* * * * *

"She's heading for Newhall," Parkin decides from the trajectory shown on his screen.

"Well, that is tiresome," Rantoong comments with a sigh. "Not sure we have anyone suitable in that quadrant. Well, apart from the obvious."

"And Reynolds is on Sihnon," his colleague continues.

Rantoong dismisses the news with a slight wave of his hand. "Probably taking a wreath to the whore-house. Sihnon's more or less on his way, after all. No need for concern."

Parkin's instinct tells him otherwise. He says nothing, but for the first time he questions the older man's infallibility.

* * * * *

"Pianhu is currently engaged with a client," the immaculately made-up receptionist tells him. "We do have other Companions available immediately." The air is thick with the heady scent of lilies. It's a smell Simon has never much liked. Ever since learning in Earth-that-was history lessons that in the days before refrigeration the sickly perfume was used in funeral homes to mask the sweet smell of decay. Of putrefaction and corruption. The irony of finding lilies here is not lost on him.

Simon shakes his head. "No. Thank you. I'll wait. It must be Pianhu."

"You've had previous appointments with her?"

"No. Uh. She was -uh- recommended by a friend." Could he sound any more out of his depth?

"I see. You are aware, Sir, that a Companion chooses her own clients. Your proposal might not be acceptable."

_Wo de ma_! This is so much harder than he'd expected. "It's okay. I – I'll wait."

"Certainly, Sir."

A young girl, a trainee he guesses from her simple attire of white silk shift and white slippers, leads him to a waiting room. She pours a cup of jasmine tea, bows and withdraws without a word. The room is cool and peaceful. In the distance he can hear the gentle strumming of a dulcimer. A picture window looks out into a garden of drifts of gravel, dotted with small conifers. Shimmering blue dragonflies hover over an ornamental pond. The whole designed to induce a feeling of serenity.

Simon gives a little snort at the irony. Serenity. If it weren't for Mal ... well, so many things ...

Suddenly there's the sound of heels on marble floor tiles and one of the most beautiful woman he has ever seen is standing before him. Almond shaped eyes the colour of amethysts in a pale coffee-coloured face, framed by golden curls. She reminds him painfully of Inara. Not her physical appearance, but the way she carries herself. The way her presence is comforting, calming.

"Are you Pianhu?"

She smiles a smile very like Inara's and nods. "And you are?"

Should he tell her? I'm the well-known fugitive Simon Tam. Perhaps not. "My name's not important. I represent Malcolm Reynolds, Captain of Serenity."

He thinks he sees her gaze flit towards the door as if they might be overheard. Imagines a small intake of breath. Barely perceptible indications of fear. "Follow me. We will discuss your proposal somewhere more comfortable."

* * * * *

Mal slaps his right fist absent-mindedly against his left palm for the umpteenth time and wishes yet again that this damn world weren't so ruttin' polite and ordered. Wishes he could go into a bar and pick a fight with a big, stupid Alliance drunk. Hell, losin' a few teeth'd be better than this endless waitin'.

To make matters worse, a coupla feds across the street been watchin' his every move for the past fifteen minutes. His cheery "Good day to you, officers! Fine job you're doing" came out more sarcastic than he'd planned and now they're scannin' hand-held doodads hopin' to find he's wanted for somethin'.

He's muttering "Wha's that gorram doctor doin' in there all this time?" under his breath when at last – finally, _renci de Fozu_! - Simon emerges blinking onto the street. Boy ain't lookin' too good. Not much like your typical Companion client. And nothin' like a man who's every last desire has been pandered to ...

Mal strides over to him, aware that the feds are taking an even closer interest in him now. "Okay, boss?" he asks loud enough for them to hear as he falls into step beside Simon. "Have a good time, did ya?"

Simon looks momentarily appalled. Mal rolls his eyes towards the feds and his medic nods emphatically. "Yes. Yes, I did." And then, off Mal's look, more sternly - "Not that it's any of your business. Time to be getting back."

"You ain't wrong," Mal agrees quietly, turning suddenly into a side street and doubling back on the way they came. He scans the street for prying eyes and ears. "Okay, Doc, spill. What she say?"

Simon stops and looks the Captain in the eye. There somethin' goin' on in that top three per cent brain Mal can't put his finger on.

"Might be best to discuss it back on Serenity."

* * * * *  
"Oh that is jus' so romantic, and so sad!" Kaylee sighs, one elbow on the table and a hand cupping her cheek. She's gazing up adoringly at Simon as he concludes his tale and takes this opportunity to inch closer to him. "She must've really loved him to give up everythin' an' join the Independents."

River notices Mal bite his lip. "Salad love," she tells him dismissively in an undertone, brushing invisible crumbs off her skirt.

"You sure you heard right, Doc?" Jayne asks incredulously. "Inara? A Browncoat spy? That what you're sayin'?"

"That is exactly what I am saying," Simon replies seriously. "According to Pianhu, she was out for revenge on the Alliance after Doran's death."

Zoe puts a hand on Wash's knee. "Then why attack my man? Don't make no sense, Sir," she says, turning to Mal. Seated beside him, Book clasps his hands together and looks down at the table. Is he avoiding eye contact?

"No it don't, Zoe. We got all kinds of information here, but I'm thinkin' instead of focusin' on what we do know, we oughta be askin' what we don't," Mal answers slowly, trying to fit the pieces together in his mind.

"'S'more'n enough of that!" Jayne declares, leaning back in his chair. He begins counting the nagging questions on his fingers. "One" - little finger - "thought the war was over. What use do them Independents have for a spy? Two," - ring finger - "if she joined up with a gang of 'em, where are they now? Shou'n't they be lookin' for her? Three," - middle finger - "what they got against a nobody like Wash? Well, he is!Four," - forefinger - "what they kill her for? Five -" Having run out of questions, he stares down at his thumb.

"Who else was on Three Hills when she died?" River completes the list for him.

The question unsettles Mal some. Crazy girl got an uncanny knack of hitting the nail on the head sometimes. "Good point, li'l sis," he nods. "How we ..?"

"Wash can do it," Zoe interrupts. "If Kaylee can get him into the system, Wash can identify any ships that landed on Three Hills round the time 'Nara died, can't you sweet-cakes?"

"Uh-huh," Wash replies uncertainly. "I can try."

Mal pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. "Okay, you do that. Think I'll send Monty a wave, set up a meet some place away from Alliance eyes and ears. See if he knows anythin' about Browncoat spies an' the like."

The others get to their feet too. All except Jayne who, to Zoe's consternation, reminds Mal, "Shou'n't we be headin' for Londinium? Wha's gonna happen to them horses?"

Mal shrugs. "Looks like we might be eatin' steak again soon, Jayne."

* * * * *

Kaylee is squealing with excitement. "We did it, Wash! We did it!" she exclaims, slapping her hand against his upturned palm. "We are geniuses!"

Zoe smiles warmly at them as she enters the bridge. "So, what we got?" she asks, leaning over her husband's shoulders.

He grins back at her. "Only one type of ship – apart from ours – landed there these past four moons. A Magpie."

The warmth of Zoe's smile cools. "A Magpie? You sure about that?"

"Absolutely! Know the Alliance finally stopped usin' 'em a year back, but there's no doubt about it. Definitely a Magpie." Wash insists triumphantly. Then he notices the look on his wife's face. "Why? What's the matter, _baobei_?"

Zoe takes a deep breath and straightens up. "Monty's ship is a Magpie."


	19. Pinned

Zoe takes a deep breath and straightens up. "Monty's ship is a Magpie."

"Monty?" Kaylee frowns, bewildered. "Monty from the war?"

"The very same. Without whom Cap'n'd be short of more'n a few teeth. Yeah. Monty," Zoe replies grimly.

Wash takes her hand. "Magpie's are crappy old boats, _baobei_. Poor manoeuvrability. Which makes them cheap. Very cheap. Not impossible others might buy 'em."

Zoe looks him steadily in the eye, her expression deep and unfathomable. "Not impossible," she echoes, but the words carry no conviction.

Kaylee raises a tentative hand. "Shou'n't we be tellin' the Cap'n about this?"

Zoe is just about to suggest a delay whilst she tries to work out the implications of their discovery when Mal's head pops up above the top of the ladder.

"Tell the Captain what?" he asks expectantly.

"'Fraid I may have oversold my husband's abilities, Sir," Zoe improvises swiftly, ignoring Wash who's doing a melodramatic mime of being offended. "We got somethin' but he's findin' it hard to distinguish between a couple of models."

"Okay," Mal says. "Jus' let me know when you got somethin' useful." And he disappears back down the ladder. Zoe feels the same kind of relief she did in the war when an incoming seeker fell wide of her position. Meanwhile Kaylee chews her bottom lip and wonders why they're lyin' to the Cap'n.

* * * * *

Mal hasn't eaten a meal with his crew since Inara died. Kaylee ain't sure he's eaten much of anything. So it's a surprise to everyone when at 20:00 hours, he appears in the kitchen. Mealtimes haven't felt the same without him at the head of the table and most of the crew have been living off snacks, snatching a bowl of protein here or a hot drink there as the fancy takes them. Refuelling rather than dining together.

Mal looks disappointed and disoriented to see his people scattered around the kitchen and commons area. He'd been hoping for a bit of togetherness. Sometimes your fellow diners provide better sustenance than the food on your plate. He feels guilty too. Shou'n't have let the loss of one crew member make him forget about the well-bein' of the others. This wallowin' he's been doin' jus' proves his point about shipboard romances ... though romance ain't hardly the word ...

Don't think about the 'ifs' and 'maybes'. There's no going back, only forwards. Don't look down. It's the looking down that makes him feel suddenly faint. As if the tightrope he's been walking between the cold fact of Inara's death and the feverish compulsion to find her killer has grown slack and is beginning to sway. If he takes his eyes off his goal he may lose his footing altogether. Lose his sanity, himself. Everything. He sits down at the table, feels its familiar polished solidity beneath his hands and clings onto it as if fearful of being blown away by the raging storm of emotion within him.

"Here, Cap'n, you have this. I'll make some more for myself." Kaylee's voice offers him something else, something warm and precious, to cleave to. He looks down and sees she's placed a bowl of reconstituted instant soup in front of him. A simple, every-day gesture that brings him back to the present.

"Thank you Kaylee. Wash ... Want you to set a course for Three Hills."

"Three Hills, Sir?" Zoe raises an eyebrow whilst Kaylee and Wash exchange a guilty look.

"Got a wave back from Monty. Thought it best we meet there, away from Alliance control. Can't be discussin' spyin' any place with a big fed presence," Mal explains. "Plus, might be somethin' we overlooked last time. Want you to take another look at the scene, Jayne. See if there's any clues."

Jayne grunts his assent, glad he ain't prone to gettin' sentimental over women. Best to live for today, take your pleasures where you find 'em. Can't ever rely on tomorrow.

"An' Zoe..." Mal continues, "Want you with me, if you're up to it?" She looks annoyed that he could doubt it. "Monty's a friend. She'll be okay," Mal goes on, turning to Wash. Not exactly looking for permission to take his second-in-command along but hoping not to encounter resistance. The pilot gives a short nod.

"Good." Mal is relieved. He's just about to lift a spoonful of soup to his mouth when ...

"Oh! Oooh! Oh!

"Zoe! _Baobei_? You okay?"

All eyes are on Zoe as her expression of surprise gives way to a slow grin of satisfaction.

"What is it?" Wash is asking, on his feet and dancing nervously around her.

"Started to jig. Like you," River tells him quietly.

"The baby, Wash." Zoe takes his hand and lays it flat on her belly. "It's movin'. Feel it."

Awe-struck, Wash is speechless for once. Kaylee squeals and Jayne grins broadly. For the briefest of moments Mal feels the 'verse pulse like it's all connected instead of breakin' apart.

* * * * *

"After you," Simon stands aside to let Mal enter the infirmary first. The ship may belong to the Captain, but this room is his territory and in it, he's the host.

Unfortunately this means Mal sees her first. "What the ...?"

"River! _Mei-mei_ ... put that down!" Simon hurries over to where his sister sits at the counter, holding Inara's syringe up to the light and peering closely at the serum it contains.

"Thought you said you had that locked away, Doc." Mal's tone is even but heavy with irritation. "This here's a recipe for unpleasantness. Again."

"I did. She must've ...." Simon is saying when River swivels round in her seat, flashing Mal a smile so sweet he can't help but smile back, despite his worries about the poison the syringe holds. Simon looks rapidly from one to the other and his frown of concern deepens into one of annoyance.

"River. Give me that. What were you thinking?"

"Just doing the math," she pouts as she hands the syringe over. "Put minus one together with plus one and you get zero."

"Uh-huh." Simon isn't really listening as he puts the syringe back into its box and locks it securely in a drawer but Mal is. He cocks his head to one side as he regards River – now spinning round and round like a kid with a new toy – pensively and raises a querying eyebrow. She brakes hard with her foot, putting an abrupt end to her revolutions. Another smile, this time of mild surprise and recognition. She points at him. "Top of the class!"

Simon looks confused, but Mal is nodding. Little movements of his head as understanding dawns.

"What?" Simon demands, absurdly angry at being left out of the game.

"Not poison ..," River says slowly, encouraging Mal to complete the sentence.

"... an antidote."

* * * * *

Zoe knows he's seen her by the way his back muscles tense and his pace quickens. She stops him with a single word. "Preacher."

Book turns around. He's on his way back from the passenger bathroom and the towel over his arm combined with his sombre clerical garb give him the appearance of a rather solemn waiter. "Zoe," he acknowledges. He stands patiently, eyes downcast, waiting for the inevitable.

She takes a few steps towards him. Don't wanna trust him – he was a gorram purple belly of the worst type – but no-one else on Serenity has the answer to her question. Best make it clear only answer she's willin' to accept is a truthsome one. "You killed a lot of people during the war, Preacher," she reminds him, her tone matter-of-fact. "Well, you ain't alone in that. Difference between you an' me, is my conscience lets me sleep easy at night. Doubt killin' you would trouble it any."

Book nods. "I appreciate your honesty. Although not a lot."

She ignores his attempt at humour. Ain't no jokin' between enemies. No truce. Start thinkin' there could be an' pretty soon you'll end at the ribcage. "What d'you know about mind-altering drugs, Shepherd? Any of 'em permanent?"

Book purses his lips. "Not many. Most break down over the years. Seem to recall there was one that was promising ..."

"How'd you know if one was breakin' down?" Zoe interrupts impatiently. She don't want a gorram list of the Alliance's dubious achievements.

Book shakes his head. "Not sure. Slips of the tongue, probably. Changes to behaviour possibly. Maybe even a complete mental breakdown ..." He goes silent, fearing Zoe's response but her face is expressionless. Against all his instincts for survival, he presses her, wanting confirmation they are thinking along the same lines. "Why d'you ask?"

"Jus' collating information, Shepherd," she replies coolly and strides off down the hall.

* * * * *

"Everything's fine," Simon says authoritatively, putting his stethoscope away. "Absolutely no need for concern."

"No worries about me going with the Cap'n then?" Zoe asks as she fastens the buttons of her shirt.

"Shouldn't be a problem. If you're careful. You're hardly like to run into trouble with Monty, are you?" Simon asks with a smile that suggests the very idea is ludicrous. "You've known him a long time, haven't you."

"Since before the war."

"Well, there you are then. Nothing to worry about. And I'm sure the Captain is as concerned about the baby's well-being as you are. Next check-up in a month," Simon reminds her as she opens the door to reveal Kaylee standing there.

"Thank you, Doctor," Zoe says as she and Kaylee pass through the doorway in opposite directions.

Kaylee trails a finger along the exam table thoughtfully. "You like babies, Simon?" she asks hopefully.

The question makes him uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons. He's fond of Kaylee, is undeniably drawn to her but she's always rushing him along. Simon craves certainty. And right now he's not certain of anything. Let alone his feelings. "Of course. But I could never eat a whole one," he jokes feebly.

Kaylee feigns shock that Simon should that kind of joke appropriate after just examinin' a pregnant woman! She grabs him by the shirt front and wags a finger under his nose. "Best not let Zoe hear you talk like that...." And she pulls him towards her so she can close his mouth with a kiss.

"Doc ain't havin' trouble breathin', is he?"

Kaylee and Simon jump apart at the sound of Mal's voice. "That bein' the case," he continues as Kaylee flushes and shakes her head with an embarrassed little smile and Simon's hands flutter to his face, "I'd take it as a courtesy if you'd save it for your bunks!"

Kaylee pokes her tongue out and flounces off. Horrible old tyrant. Every time things are going well with Simon, he comes along and spoils it. Even her own Daddy di'n't police her love life with as much unrelentin' determination as this!

Simon feels his skin grow hotter and hotter. Like it used to when he father had caught him reading something 'unsuitable' or playing with River when he ought to have been studying. He tries to remind himself that – actually – he's done nothing wrong, but it's hard with Mal standing there looking so ... pained.

"Did you...? Were you ...?"

"Lookin' for Zoe."

"She just left."

"Right."

"Mal ... uh, nothing. Sorry."

Mal gives him one of those withering, contemptuous stares he seems to have reserved solely for Simon and goes off in search of Zoe.

* * * * *

Book is praying and praying hard, even if it don't look like it at first glance. Mal is making coffee and the Shepherd doesn't want to offend his religious insensibilities.

"Doctor Frankenstein," River addresses him urgently in a confidential tone as she enters the kitchen and takes a seat opposite him. "The monster has escaped."

Book's eyes fly open. He looks haunted - hunted - as River continues, "You have to stop it. It's your baby."

Mal gives a little cough. "Stop frightenin' the preacher, River. He believes in all that supernatural _fei hua_. You'll give him nightmares."

"Broke the mare's foal himself and now the copper's rusting. Red for red. No good will come of her," River tries to explain as the images kaleidescope through her brain. "No nightmares, no rest, no forgiveness until you stop it."

Mal shakes his head. Girl's whimsical beyond words.

Book shakes his head too, as in his heart he pushes the chalice away. The wine has transmogrified into blood and the thought of drinking it sickens him.

* * * * *

Zoe ain't happy. Mal's invested way too much hope in this meet with Monty. Which is why she felt she had to come along. Don't want Mal to sink no lower. Might never get him back. His faith in Monty is kinda painful to her, given what knows – correction, what she thinks she knows. Still can't quite believe it herself, which is why she hasn't told Mal yet. Don't want him getting' all skittish. Not if she's wrong ...

Maybe she's leapin' to conclusions. There's still so much that don't fit together. Inara, Wash, Monty. She can see the how of it, but not the why. The idea that Inara was an Alliance assassin was a shock to her, but it di'n't seem impossible. Core-bred, her allegiance was like as not with the haves. But now, thanks to Pianhu, they know different. Inara was working for the Independents. An' that syringe of hers held an antidote, not poison. An antidote meant for Wash.

They're approaching the encampment now. Two big, off-white tents in the centre, surrounded by smaller green ones. As they get closer, Zoe can see they've been here a while. Paths have been worn by the passage of feet backwards and forwards, and way off to the left, the latrines have been redug several times.

"Think we've been keepin' Monty waitin' long, Sir?"

"Must've got here a few days back," Mal replies. Zoe lifts an eyebrow. More like a few months back.

"That you, Zoe?" a voice exclaims and she and Mal spin round to see the grinning face of Rudi Tang. His eyes fall on Zoe's bump. "Gorramit woman! What kinda fightin' weight d'ya call that?"

Zoe always liked Rudi. Plain-speaking fella, more talkative than most but careful with words. Deep. Sensible. And good fun too, no denyin' it. Soon she's engaged in reminiscing about the old days and catching up on each other's lives.

Mal looks twitchy. "Gonna go on ahead, Zoe," he tells her. "No, you come when you're ready. Ain't no hurry."

Zoe hesitates but Rudi's called Brandy Jackson – one of the few women Zoe's ever met as career-minded as herself – to join the conversation and it suddenly occurs to her that Monty ain't their only war buddy here. Maybe not the only one with information to share. "Won't be long, Sir."

Claiming pregnancy makes it hard for her to stand or sit in one place for long, Zoe suggests she, Rudi and Brandy go for a walk. One that conveniently takes them away from them as might eavesdrop. One that gives her old comrades space to speak their minds.

"It's real good to see you both again," she says warmly, meaning it. "Any more of the old platoon here?"

A dark look passes between Rudi and Brandy. "No, not any more. Used to be, but they all left. Been replaced by a load of _mei yong de lese_ paid men. Men with no principles, no commitment other than coin."

"Why'd the others leave?"

Brandy spits out the plug of tobacco she'd been chewing and grinds it into the dust. "Monty's gorram wife came back."

* * * * *

"Mal. Come in, come in." Mal's reminded of Monty's enormous strength as the bear hug greeting he receives all but squeezes the oxygen right out of his lungs. "Terrible business. How ya holdin' up?"

"I'm okay."

But Mal's face is saying otherwise. There are dark shadows under his eyes and deep lines around his mouth. Guilt prods Monty sharply. He pours them both a glass of contraband whisky and starts jabbering about how the smuggling trade's getting harder every year. Relates the details of a long list of failed jobs. Curses the feds for their high-tech surveillance equipment. Asks Mal how business is for him. Anything to avoid mentioning Inara.

Mal interprets this as a misplaced kindness. He feels his friend's pity on him like a heavy, damp blanket and struggles out from under it with a sudden forced smile. "Let's get down to business. Found out 'Nara was workin' for the Independents. You know anythin' about that?"

Monty fiddles with his beard. Wishes Bridget were here to handle this. Don't wanna say the wrong thing an' get caught out. But if he don't say anythin' that might get him found out too. Never had Mal's brand of smarts. So he opts for the truth – half of it anyway.

"Well, yeah, I do, Mal. Came to me lookin' for an introduction to a Browncoat cell a coupla years back. Tried to put her off, but she wou'n't be told."

Mal smiles wryly. "Sounds like 'Nara. Know where this cell was based?"

"Uh..." Is it Mal's imagination or is Monty trying to hide something. Man has an uncomfortableness to him that's all kind of wrong for someone offerin' help. Sweatin'. Avoidin' eye contact. "Some moon off ... gorramit, memory's shot to pieces, Mal. Can't recall the name ..."

"Wa'n't here was it?" Mal asks, cutting to the chase. Monty looks shocked but Mal continues, "Cos that wave you sent – sounded like you knew her pretty well. You called her 'exceptional'. Di'n't sound like no passin' acquaintance."

Monty presses his palms together, touching the forefingers to his lips, and puffs out a long breath. In a way, it's a relief to get it off his chest. He gives Mal a reluctantly admiring grin. "There you go again. Always thinkin'!" He takes a seat and invites Mal to do the same. "She came to me lookin' for vengeance after the Alliance hanged Red Doran. Guessed he must've been her lover. Thought she'd cool off with time, but she was so focused. It was like a religious thing with her.... Mal! What ya do ..?!"

Suddenly the muddle of questions and answers begins to resolve. Mal has seized Monty by the lapels and is dragging him to his feet. "What did you ask her to do, you _gou cao de hundan_?" he demands, shaking as he struggles to contain his fury.

Just as quickly two bodyguards enter and peel Mal off their boss, twisting his arms up behind his back. "Wan' us to kill him?" one suggests idly.

To his credit, Monty looks appalled. "Kill him? No, you _yu ben de wangba dan_! This is Malcolm Reynolds. We went through the war together!"

The bodyguard shrugs and loosens his grip. It's clear the bond of shared suffering Monty's alluding to is beyond his understanding. The bodyguards shuffle out, leaving Mal and Monty facing each other like boxers in the ring.

"Talk," Mal orders coldly.

"I di'n't kill her, Mal," Monty begins earnestly, looking Mal in the eye. "Like I said, she was lookin' for vengeance. I ... I told her the Browncoat resistance movement was crumblin'. Hell, even a few of my men've deserted. Told her they needed a leader, a real hero – not an old has-been like me." He pauses, trying to assess the effect of his words. "Told her she was the only one who could help us."

"Huh. What I'm still uncomprehendin' of is what all this has to do with my pilot."

"Told her he was the war hero. That he'd been pumped him full of drugs so's he'd forget who he was as part of some filthy Alliance experiment. All she had to do was inject the serum an' he'd be back to his former glory. Ready to lead the insurrection."

Mal blinks and shakes his head like he's trying to dislodge water from his ears. "Wash? A war hero?"

Monty nods. This is going better than he'd hoped. Everyone's comin' out of this real shiny. Him especially. Somehow he's managed to convince Mal he was acting for The Cause. Di'n't need that scheming bitch after all. Now to tie up the loose ends. Finger a suspect. "Reckon the Alliance must've found out an' killed her," he concludes neatly.

The loose flap of canvas behind him is pulled aside and Zoe appears, gun in hand. "You're a liar, Monty Gordon," she says flatly, her voice all fire and ice. "Inara was killed here, on this damned planet – your little empire." She trains her weapon on him and waits for Mal's order.

Monty shifts uneasily. "Alliance is all powerful, you know that, Mal ..." a pleading glance ... "They can kill you on any damn planet."

"No arguin' with that," Zoe concedes. "But they'd have to land first. Ain't a ship landed on this rock for four months bar'n yours." She narrows her eyes and lines up her pistol sights on Monty's chest.

Something inside Mal bursts. A dam of pain and loss and rage so powerful he can only ride its wave. He lands a punch on Monty's jaw and another on his nose. An uppercut to his solar plexus send the big man tumbling to the floor.

"My men," he gasps, "They'll ... they kill you Mal. An' Zoe too."

The red mist in front of Mal clears some. Gotta keep Zoe safe. She cocks her gun and winks at Mal. Their old signal that things were under control. That they've got backup of some kind. "Always intended followin' you to hell, Sir."

Monty tries to take advantage of their distraction to get to his feet. A kick to the groin puts him back on the ground.

"Mal!" he pleads, "Zoe! I saved both your gorram lives durin' the war. Don't that earn me nothin'?"

Mal grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him to his knees. Then, in a slow deliberate movement, draws his gun from its holster and presses it to Monty's temple. "Earns you a quick death, rather than a slow one," he tells him dispassionately, judge, jury and executioner.

Zoe holds her breath, waiting for the shot. Prepares herself for a gun battle with Monty's men. Monty whimpers and a dark, wet stain seeps across the front of his canvas pants. Mal's blood pounds in his ears and his hand trembles. He looks down at his former friend. Watches the sweat drip from his face. Breathes in his fear ...

_Tamade_! He can't do this.

Instead he pushes Monty face first into the dirt and re-holsters his gun. Zoe sighs, then does the same.

Monty pushes himself up onto all fours. "I di'n't kill her," he repeats piteously. "It was ..."

"Saffron," Zoe says quietly, watching Mal's reaction carefully. His gun-hand flexes involuntarily. "You let that _lan dong xi de jian huo_ interrogate her. You set that vicious _xi niu e mo_ on Inara. Knowin' what she'd do. Makes you as guilty her in my book. Lucky for you, the Cap'n's more literal-minded. Why'd you do it Monty? What did you want her to find out?"

Monty covers his face with his hands. "It's been so hard since the war. You must know that. Nobody wants to give a Browncoat a job. Stay on Alliance territory an' you end up a bum. Made my way out here. 'Course, you don't get nothin' for nothin'. Had to grease a few palms, make a few deals. This fella ... there was a contract. Anyhow, the serum was his. When Inara ... when she di'n't ... Well, we had to get it back. You don't know this fella. He's heavy-duty, Mal. I was scared...."

Mal turns his back. Ain't no sympathy left in him. No point askin' for it.

"Inara wouldn't tell you," Zoe guesses. "Thought you might try to use it on Wash again. Figured there was more to it than you were tellin'. So you handed her over to Saffron. You're pathetic," she snorts. Then, to Mal. "Saffron's crazy. Dangerous too. Rudi and Brandy been tellin' me a lot of interesting tales about her. Seems she stole a shuttle a week back. I'm thinkin' she docked with a larger vessel so she could get far away from here. Leave this mess behind. So, what we gonna do now?"

"Do?" Mal blinks and his mouth twists. "I'm gonna kill her. Track her down an' kill her. An' she ain't earned no quick death."


	20. Counterplay

Zoe breathes a sigh of relief as the mule's engine starts to turn. She'd calculated that with a bit of covering fire from Rudi and Brandy, she and Mal stood a better than even chance of escaping from Monty's indifferent band of hired men, but she's glad they didn't have to put the math to the test.

As she goes up through the gears, she remarks almost conversationally, "Had me convinced you were really gonna do it for a while back there, Sir. Kill Monty."

Mal grunts. "Had my own self convinced, Zoe."

She knew it. Saw the darkness rise up in those angelic blue eyes of his till he looked like the devil incarnate. Then saw it ebb slowly back, sucking the murderous rage back down like sea-water through shingle. Trouble is, ain't no holdin' back the tide – wave has to break eventually.

"Shame the Shepherd wa'n't there to witness the other cheek-turnin'. Would've made his day. Seems to think soul-savin's a two-for-one deal. Plannin' to slip through the Pearly Gates on your coat-tails. Claim the credit for bringing you back to the Lord."

"Only place he's goin' with me is Hell," Mal replies coldly, staring dead ahead. "I ain't turned no cheek. Jus' wanna visit justice on the right person."

"Seems to me it's lookin' for payback's what got us here in the first place," Zoe says quietly, almost as if she's talking to herself.

They drive the rest of the way in silence, Mal biting the inside of his cheek as he goes over the many ways of inflicting pain life has taught him whilst Zoe wonders how she's going to drag him back from the abyss this time.

When Serenity's familiar outline appears in the distance Mal says suddenly, "Talkin' of payback - that husband of yours is gonna make my life a misery once he knows he was a gorram war hero. Can't promise you I won't space him if he starts with stories of his own."

A smile twitches at the corner of Zoe's mouth. "Cou'n't say I'd blame you, Sir." Then more seriously, "I ain't plannin' on tellin' him yet."

"Well, I'd sure take that as a kindness, but don't think Wash'd agree. Anyway, ain't married folk s'posed to be truthsome with each other?" Mal smart-asses, never able resist the urge to point out the flaws in other people's relationships. "What about trust an' honesty an' ...?"

"Not sure I know what the truth of this is my own self yet, Sir," Zoe interrupts him coolly. "If Wash was such a big hero – kind as could lead an insurrection - don't you think we'd've heard of him? Think Monty cut us a slice of the truth an' kept the rest to himself."

Yeah. She thought that'd shut him up.

* * * * *

"All right, all right, Parkin!" Rantoong holds up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll grant you that things have gone somewhat pear-shaped. The trick is to impose some kind of order on the chaos. Shape it to our own ends."

"Reynolds came close to shooting my 'tame Browncoat' as you call him, the prospect has taken off on her own and our Londinium massacre is looking increasingly unlikely. On top of that Gordon blabbed about what the serum does and now we have eight more people with information which – if it got out – could be immensely damaging to the Corporation, to us. Shape me some order out of that!"

If looks could kill, Parkin would be sliding off that leather chair into a pile of his own entrails, instead of deriding his superior's competence. It takes Rantoong several seconds to regain his composure.

"Gordon is your responsibility," he counters, bouncing the criticism right back..

"I have terminated my relationship with Lieutenant Gordon," Parkin replies with no small degree of satisfaction. "I like to keep things simple. My people either live up to expectations or they don't live at all. Order out of chaos." And he gives a flourish of the hands like a magician after a successful trick.

"I see. Well, that is good. Pour encourager les autres, amongst other things. As for the prospect, she's heading for Newhall. Doubtless with Captain Reynolds in hot pursuit. Newhall," his eyes take on a faraway look, "Newhall is in such an interesting quadrant. What you might call a frontier zone, inhabited by true pioneers prepared to live with the ever-present danger of ...." He's almost purring as his glance slides sideways to meet Parkin's. "Time to give chaos a try perhaps?"

Parkin pulls a skeptical face.

"They've not performing dogs. You can't crack a whip and expect them to jump through hoops for you. They're savage, lawless animals now. Spreading unholy dread throughout the verse." A pause. "That's what they were created them for, after all."

"I had a subtler approach in mind. In general predators prefer to pick off the sick and the weak. The scent of blood from a wounded animal excites them. All we need do is bait the trail. Make them think Reynolds is bleeding."

* * * * *

Lou-Anne Chuck has tight greying curls and seen-it-all eyes. Came to Newhall but a year back, just after a settler's chance discovery turned this rock – which the Alliance had meant to be a basic farming planet – into a bustling mining world. Since then it seems a fair portion of the 'verse's flotsam and jetsam have fetched up here, all looking to make coin fast.

Mining is in Lou-Anne's blood. A fifth generation miner herself, at the age of fifty-three she was promoted to her present position as Chief Overseer of the Blue Sun Corp's Platinum and Chromite Mine on Newhall.

She takes a final drag on her cigarette and stubs it out in the leftovers of her canteen lunch. The fat sizzles momentarily releasing an unappetizing bouquet of recycled oil and ash. Through the glass panel in the door she can see them waiting for her. Gubby Stewart – a leather-faced middle aged man and a real miner - nursing what looks like a broken nose and the new girl she thinks of as Ginger. Ha'n't had time to learn her name yet an' now there's no point. Ginger's been here less than a week and is about to get her marching orders. Whatever tale she spins, Lou-Anne knows it will be nothing but a pack of lies. Would never have hired her herself – girl has charlatan, cut-purse and worse written all over her.

As soon as Lou-Anne emerges from her office, Ginger launches into the role of brave victim. Dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, bites back a sob. Lou-Anne's unruly brows knit impatiently together. She plants her feet slightly apart and stands with hands on broad hips.

"Okay, missy. Let's hear your side of it."

Sniff. Eyelash flutter. Quivering bosom. "He .. he tried to force himself on me. I was scared. Lived my whole life in the maiden's house before comin' here in search of work. I di'n't know what else to do ... I was only tryin' to protect my honour." Pleading glance.

"_Goushi_!" Gubby exclaims, breaking off from trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nostrils. "She tricked me into her bed and then tried to steal my wallet whilst I was sleepin'. But I ain't such an old fool as to close my eyes on a young thing as'd sleep with the likes of me. Caught her going through my pockets. Gorram bitch kicked me in the face when I tried to stop her.

Lou-Anne grunts. "Now that story has the ring of truth to it."

Ginger abruptly stops playing for sympathy and lifts her chin defiantly. She smiles nastily at the overseer. "Okay, hon. You win. You sussed me out. But there ain't a damn thing you can do about it. My word against his."

"I can fire you."

"No you can't. I quit. There are other jobs. Better jobs."

Lou-Anne looks her up and down. Takes in the pale skin, blue eyes and red hair. The unnaturally full curve of breasts and hips on such a delicate frame. The angry confidence of a woman accustomed to inspiring love but unable to feel it.

"Best stick to what you know. Newhall City's whorehouse's always looking for new girls."

* * * * *

"Mal? You in there?" Both hands on the door frame, Zoe leans into Inara's shuttle and peers around. It's dark and there's no answer. He's got to be in here; she's looked every other damn place. Unless he's thrown himself out the airlock ... No, he ain't gonna do that. Not whilst he's still got a score to settle. A score she can help him with. Because according to the database Wash and Kaylee got into, a Magpie shuttle recently docked with a transport vessel en route for Newhall. "Mal!"

Still no answer, so she steps through the doorway. Jayne's right – it does smell funny in here. Well, different from the rest of Serenity anyway. Of flowers and spices, woods and oils. But mostly of Inara.

Mal is sitting on the long red couch, bent almost double, his face buried deep in one of Inara's cushions, shoulders shaking. Zoe feels dirty. She shouldn't be here. She's been to hell and back with this man – would do it all again if he asked – but she can't walk this path with him. This he has to do alone.

She takes a couple of stealthy paces backwards and then makes her escape. She has no idea if he even knew she was there.

* * * * *

Simon is quietly confident about his latest cocktail of drugs. Oh, he knows it's not perfect and that its effects won't last, but slowly, slowly he's working his way towards the right mix of sedatives, stimulants, antipsychotics and antidepressants that will release River's mind from the cage the Alliance has trapped it in. One day, he will get it right and his sister will return to him, her maddening, delightful brilliant old self.

Wash, who's just had to have stitches to a head wound inflicted by one of the mares taking exception to the quality of her lunch ration, watches with slightly horrified fascination as Simon draws the mixture up into a hypodermic syringe and taps it carefully to remove any air bubbles. He shudders at the thought that an air bubble can be a lethal as poison.

"Always hated needles. Even as a kid. Hate 'em even more now."

Simon gives him a sympathetic smile. "A necessary evil, I'm afraid. And injections don't have to hurt if you follow the correct procedure."

"If you say so, Doc. Still don't like the idea of being stuck in the veins with a pointy bit of metal. Gotta feel sorry for River, number of shots she gets."

"The trick is to find a good vein," Simon tells him. "Making a fist and releasing it repeatedly usually brings up a perfectly adequate injection site on the lower arm."

"Now I'm feeling faint," Wash complains. "Keep wonderin' what would've happened if Inara ... you know ... got the poison into me. D'you think it would it have been quick? I think it would've been. I mean, we got along okay. Don't think she'd've wanted me to suffer ..." Morbid curiosity gets the better of him.

Simon's brow lift in surprise. "So Mal hasn't told you his theory?"

"What theory?"

"Well, actually it was River's. He just picked up on it. They think the serum wasn't a poison after all, but an antidote of some kind. My opinion obviously counts for nothing. I'm only a qualified physician." Is Simon sulking? He surely is. Now that is funny! Wash can't wait to tell Zoe about this ... Then again, maybe she already knows. She and Mal have probably teased out all the implications of the serum being an antidote, evaluated all their options and come to a decision on how to proceed. Only neither of them has seen fit to tell him. Fine! It's only his life. He's only the husband.

"I'd prefer you to wait a while before getting up," Simon says as Wash gets to his feet. "You're not looking great. Don't want you passing out."

"Don't worry about me, Doc. I'm not important." And he's gone. Simon rolls his eyes in exasperation. No need to take his advice. No need at all. He sighs. The syringe is ready. Time to find River.

She's sitting on the edge of her bed, face pressed into a pillow and rocking backwards and forwards.

"River, _mei-mei_, time for your medicine," he says gently prising the pillow from her grip. Her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is red. She's been crying. "There, there. You'll feel better soon."

"Daddy's sad," she tells him in an agonized whisper. "Missing his girl."

Simon resists the temptation to voice his doubts about their father's ability to feel anything, let alone sadness at the loss of his daughter. In Simon's opinion, Gabriel Tam is probably very much relieved to have seen the last of his troublesome offspring.

"Waited too long to eat the cake and now the candles have all blown out," River says, shaking his hand in hers as if trying to impress the importance of what she's saying on him.

"He can afford a new one," is his bitter reply as he scans her inner elbow for a vein. He slides the needle in quickly and looks her in the eye. "Try not to think about home, River. This is our home now. And this crew is our family. Even Jayne, God help us. At least his betrayal made a kind of sense..."

"Boob." A tear squeezes out through her lashes as she closes her eyes. "Thought you loved him."

"I did. I do. I just don't respect him or expect anything from him any more."

River frowns in confusion and slaps away the hand he tries to stroke her cheek with. Then the door slides open and Mal is standing there. He looks from brother to sister, instinctively aware of the tension in the room. But River is perfectly calm now and her eyes twinkle knowingly as if she's keeping a delicious secret.

"Need some information, Doc. If you're not busy." Simon looks at his sister who dismisses his concern with an impatient huff. He stands up.

"Want a list of Inara's injuries."

Simon flinches visibly at the request, not at all sure this is a good idea. "It might be easier not knowing," he suggests gently but is answered with a hard resolute stare.

"You let me worry about that," Mal says coldly. "I know you got your hypocritic oath to abide by," - the malapropism is surely deliberate - "but I'm in need of some old-fashioned justice right now. An eye for an eye."

Simon knows there's no point in arguing. And he can't work up much compassion for Saffron. But he feels Mal's pain like a knife to his own heart and fears for the Captain's sanity.

"Poor Daddy," River repeats over and over again once they have left the room.

* * * * *

Behind the locked door of shuttle two, Zoe sits before the Cortex screen steadily, patiently going through the numerous pages listing the Alliance's Most Wanted. Wash is not amongst them. Halfway through she realized he might have been given an alias, so she went back and rechecked photographs and physical descriptions. Nothing.

Which would seem to confirm her very worst fears.

* * * * *

Jayne's confused. Plus his feelings have been hurt. cuz that one time – when he was tryin' to do Mal a favour by sortin' his 'fugee problem for him – he, Jayne, ended up on the wrong end of a wrench and on the wrong side the airlock door. Hell, he di'n't kill no-one. Monty murders 'Nara and gets off with a punchin'. He shakes his head. Workin's of Mal's mind're beyond him.

"Think it's a good sign myself," Book is saying as he prepares the last of their fresh vegetables for dinner. "Forgiveness is the mark of a great man."

"Cap'n left forgiveness behind a long time ago," Zoe informs him dispassionately as she enters the mess.

Jayne raises a hand in contradiction. "So how come Monty ain't dead?"

"Because," Zoe explains, "we're goin' after Saffron instead. Wash's jus' set a course for Newhall." She turns to Book whose disappointment at the news is evident. "Think that's a good sign do you, Shepherd?" she asks, twisting the knife for the sheer hell of it.

"Newhall? Ain't that Reaver territory?" Jayne asks, his eyes widening with expectant dread like a dog that's just unearthed a porcupine. "Don't wanna be goin' any place as got Reavers."

Simon steers River into the room. She's very agitated and is pulling violently at her hair, cursing loudly in Chinese with every tug.

"Cap'n says Reavers don't stay long in one place," Kaylee puts in optimistically as she too appears, looking for dinner. "They was out in that quadrant coupla years back. Lightnin' don't strike twice in the same place. That's a scientific fact, ain't it Simon?" She's asking him in part because she's in awe of his learning and in part because flattery in one of her wide range of seduction techniques. And the doctor is proving a difficult man to seduce. She's more'n a mite disappointed he ain't made a return visit to her bunk.

Simon is shaking his head mumbling, "I really don't know. I'm a medic, not a meteorologist," when River pipes up, "On Earth-that-was a park ranger was struck by lightning thirteen times. Thirteen. Prime number. Unlucky for some."

Jayne glares at her for snatching away the straw of denial Kaylee was offering from right under his nose. "Unlucky for him, I'd say. An' more reason for keepin' well away from Newhall."

"You can always stay in your bunk," Zoe points out with unmasked disdain.

"No. No he can't." Book's intervention takes everyone by surprise. "I'm thinkin' the Captain'll need support in this venture. An' you and I are the best ones to provide it, Jayne." There's a quiet authority in his voice that the mercenary can't argue against. Instead he harrumphs and spits on the floor. A petulant, futile gesture from someone who's just been over-ruled.

"Not sure how you figure that, Preacher," Zoe objects. "Your loyalty ain't exactly beyond question. An' Jayne ... well ..."

"Which is precisely why it should be us as goes with him," Book says, undaunted by her critical stare. "Both of us got somethin' to prove. To him. To you. But most of all to ourselves."

Zoe holds his gaze for a long time, her eyes all but boring into his soul. At last she gives a curt nod. "That you do."

* * * * *

"What you doin' hidin' in here, Zoe?" Mal asks having finally tracked her down.. "Been fightin' with that husband of yours again?"

Zoe narrows her eyes at him. A little warning, well understood between the two of them. "Tryin' to avoid a fight actually, Sir" she says, returning her attention to the screen.

He takes a seat beside her and stares at it too. "Wanted by the Alliance," he reads aloud. "War criminals still at large." He glances sideways at Zoe's serious face. "Looks like you're spoilin' for trouble from where I'm sittin'."

"There's hundreds of Independents listed here, Mal. Most of 'em MIA. But Wash ain't amongst 'em."

Mal frowns. "If what Monty said was true an' they changed his memories, seems more'n likely they'd change his name too."

"Thought of that. Searched for a physical match." She turns to look at Mal and there's something like fear in her eyes. "He ain't on the list."

Mal stares at her, trying to read her thoughts. "Monty might've been lyin' ..."

"You don't believe that, an' neither do I. Besides, Wash's been sayin' all manner of strange things." Her voice trails off, as her eyes beg Mal to come up with another explanation. Anything other than what she's thinking. Instead he simply waits for her to give voice to her dread.

"What if it wa'n't an experiment, Mal? What if those _tamade hundan_ knew damn well what they were doin'?"

Mal's mouth fall open. "But that would mean .... Why go to that kind of trouble for an Independent? ... Oh! _Zao cao_!"

"Think we should tell him?"

"Oh don't you go draggin' me into this. Ain't no 'we'. It's up to you. He's your husband."

"Okay, Sir. Think _I_ should tell him?"

"Like I jus' made note of – it's your decision."

"Would you want to know?"

"I ain't him."

"Thanks, Sir, You've been a great help."

"I live to serve."

She should be used to this. Mal's infuriating habit of handin' out unwanted advice but withholdin' his opinion when she most needs it. She gives him a withering look but his smirk remains.

"Picked up a distress call." Wash is standing in the doorway. Mal and Zoe couldn't look guiltier if he'd just caught them in bed together. How long has he been there? Did he overhear? Should they say anything? "What? What's the matter?" His display of confusion reassures them.

"Nothin'. Jus' pullin' up maps of Newhall," Zoe attempts to cover their tracks as she flicks the screen off.

"Distress call from where?" Mal asks briskly. Nothin' like an emergency for divertin' attention.

"Well, here's a wacky coincidence. It's from a Firefly. Seems to be carrying about ten crew. Life support on the blink."

_Gau sang jeong zi gou zoeng_. _Gim caa jeong hei gung jing_. Life support failure. Check oxygen levels at once.. Gorramit! He can't ignore it. Been in that desperate position himself.

"Where are they?"

"Well, again with the wacky coincidence. Heading for Newhall."

* * * * *

Simon takes advantage of Zoe's routine examination to unload his concerns about Mal.

"Anger is a natural response. It's one of the stages of grief. But it's important to work through it. Talk it out ..."

"Talkin' ain't his strong suit. More for the doin'."

"But what he's planning ... Dragging us after Saffron deep into Reaver territory ... well, it looks like the action of a man who's going mad."

Zoe tilts her head to one side, astonished that someone as clever as Simon could fail to understand. "You're wrong. It's the opposite. It's the action of a man who's trying to prevent himself from goin' mad. It's not even about love ... well, not that kind of love. It's about family. This crew is the only family Mal's got and he'll do whatever he has to to protect it. Endin' Saffron's the last thing he can do for Inara. Plus it'll serve as a warnin' to others. Keepin' his crew safe is the most important thing in the 'verse to him now. A fact you've got plenty to be grateful for. Think about that when you're worrying about what's sanity and what's madness." She pauses as a thought strikes her. "Some might say what you did to rescue River was madness."

"But at least she was alive!" Simon protests, trying to deny the similarities between himself and the Captain even as the thought warms him. "Inara's dead. This won't bring her back."

Zoe pats his shoulder as if he were a rather simple child. "No, but it'll bring him back."

* * * * *

A gentle tap on the door of his bunk arouses Simon from a frankly unsettling dream in which he was riding a stampeding bull through a thunderstorm, clinging onto the horns and being bounced painfully ever which way.

He pads barefoot over to the door.

"Kaylee!" He glances over to the chronometer by his bed. "It's late. Is something wrong? Is it River."

"No. River's fine," she says, entering the room uninvited.

Aware of Kaylee's eyes on his chest, Simon quickly pulls on a vest. "Is it Mal ... the Captain, I mean?"

Kaylee twists her hands in her lap and tears begin to well in her eyes. "I'm so worried about him, Simon," she confides. "You think he's really gonna kill Saffron?"

Simon is silent. Knows she doesn't want to hear his answer that yes, he does think Mal will kill her. Eventually. He shudders, uncomfortable on many levels. His rational, civilized side is repelled, sickened, by the brutality of what Mal is planning. But part of him is fascinated by – and yes, a little in awe of – the man's passionate intensity, his focus and determination. Unexpectedly he recalls that night when Mal came striding out of the darkness that night to save him and River from being burnt at the stake. He smiles to himself. Being on Mal's crew has its disadvantages but in some ways he's never felt so safe. Nor so cared for.

"You laughin' at me?" Kaylee asks, her lip quivering.

"No. No. I would never ... " he exclaims with utter sincerity.

She accept the denial with a wan little smile. "Hold me. Please."

He takes a step forward and puts one arm, then the other round her, pulls her in close. She sighs deeply and lets her head drop against his chest. She's so soft and warm and vulnerable like this. Nothing to feel intimidated by, inadequate beside. His hand moves up to stroke her hair, which is surprisingly silky to the touch. He's looking down tenderly at her when she suddenly raises her chin and sees the look in his eyes.

"Kiss me."

Does he kiss her or does she kiss him? It's hard to be sure. Because at first there's the lightest brush of lip against lip, then the firmer contact of mouth on mouth. Before he has time to think, his tongue is in her mouth, caressing hers and she's pressing her body hard against him.

It only takes a little step backwards to reach the bed.

* * * * *

"You sure no-one recognized you?" Mal asks Jayne, with a look that warns him against even thinking of lying.

Jayne recoils at the affront to his skills. "'Course not! I was in disguise. Wore my orange hat."

"Oh good. You'll have been real inconspicuous in that." Mal's sarcasm is not lost on Book but Jayne is oblivious.

"I could come in with you, Mal ... Watch your back," he continues, trying not to sound too eager, as they come to a halt outside Catrina's Cathouse and Bar.

"That's mighty generous of you, Jayne," Mal replies, straight-faced. "But you had your turn in there already. Not that I ain't grateful to you for findin' the gou de ma. No, I need you out here with the horses, ready for a quick getaway." A shadow passes behind his eyes. "Afterwards."

"Hell, the Preacher can handle three mares for half an hour!"

"Ain't in the mood to argue this, Jayne. Anyway, your job's to keep in contact with the ship. In case there's any news on that Firefly. Now – think you can stick to the plan?"

"I was only ..."

"Know full well what you 'was only'. Don't need to be a mind-readin' genius for that."

The corners of Jayne's mouth turn down and he drops his gaze to his boots. Meanwhile Mal stuffs his hands deep into his pockets where his fingers find the tools he took from Kaylee's repair kit last night. The cold hard metal is a solid and very real presence that reminds him he's on the threshold of turning his desire for vengeance into harsh, bloody reality. If he's having any doubts about going through with this, his companions don't see it. He clenches his jaw, grinding molar against molar and takes his first step on the road to perdition.

"God go with you, son."

He spins round, dazzling the Shepherd with a bright, defiant smile. "That ain't hardly likely, Preacher."

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

* * * * *

"Should warn you," Mal drawls as he peels two fifty-square bills from the wad in his hand and presses them into the upturned palm of Madame Catrina herself, "I ain't much for the regular flavour."

"Not many of our customers is," the old woman replies, unsurprised.

"Prefer a bit of a struggle, pretence at unwillingness. Might be a bit of screamin' an' yellin'."

Catrina nods again. That explains what a fine-looking fella like this one is doing paying for his play. Don't seem likely in the normal run of things that he'd meet up with many girls able to put on a convincing show of reluctance. "No problem. Usually jus' turn up the music if things upstairs get a bit lively. Now, if you wanna follow me, I'll show you the room."

"You get me the girl I asked for?" Mal asks as he follows her up the open staircase that leads into a dark, wood-panelled corridor.

"In here."

Saffron has arranged herself in an alluring pose, back to the door. She waits to hear it swing closed before rolling languidly over. Her eyes are demurely downcast so the first thing they fall on is a familiar boot. In horror they travel upwards, over the canvas pants, past the belt and up the coarse cotton shirt to meet an impressively flinty stare. Ever the quick thinker, she gets to her feet and rushes over to Mal, flinging her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, thank God you're here! Mal, you gotta help me. Monty sold me ..."

"_Bizui_," he growls, shoving her forcefully away. He strikes her across the cheek with the back of his hand, making her reel backwards. "Don't lie to me."

Swiftly changing tactics, she spins back round, bringing an elbow up into the base of his nose, making him see stars. "So, Malcolm Reynolds. You've come to get your revenge, have you? You really are a gullible fool. She never loved you, you realize that, don't you?" She punctuates the jibe with a kick to his groin that takes his breath away.

He shoots out a hand and grabs her hair. "Don't matter whether she did or not. I ..." A tug upwards and he pulls her off-balance. She falls to the floor where she promptly sinks her teeth into his ankle.. Taking advantage of the surprise that makes him yelp, she scrabbles towards the window, but he throws himself down on her heavily, preventing her from reaching it.

Pinning her down with his weight, he reaches for her wrist and twists the arm up behind her back.

"I'll scream," she hisses.

He leans in towards her ear. "Bonus," he whispers darkly, lips skimming the lobe. He sits back up and takes hold of her little finger. "This what you did to her?" A pull, a jerk, a quiet snap and a gasp of amazement. He moves on to the next finger. This time Saffron's gasp has an unnervingly pleasured sound to it.

"That's it, hubby," she breathes seductively. "Always thought you were as tweaked as me underneath." He knows she's trying to psych him out, but the knowledge don't make this any the less creepifyin'. "Monty's boys had her in the end. You gonna go that far?"

To his horror, Mal feels his stomach churn. Fears he might be sick. He battles the weakness, ignores her taunting and yanks her middle finger backwards. She screams.

"Here, son, let me get that weight for you." If Mal hears the words by the time he comes round the mild concussion caused by the blow to the back of his head will have eased them from his memory. He keels sideways, rolling away from Saffron.

For a moment she stays where she is, fearing a trick. Then she turns her head to look over her shoulder. And up into the face of The Malleus.

When her eyes meet his, Book goes pale. The similarity is uncanny. The face of his last victim – dead all these years - is staring up at him.

Saffron gets to her feet, sneering. She looks at the gun in his hand, now trained on her and gives a harsh laugh. "Gettin' dull in your old age, huh? Lost your torturer's fire? You sad, sad old man."

Book's mouth is hanging open. "You're ... you're the child ..."

"Bravo, you piece of crap. Figured it out at last have you? I knew you the minute I laid eyes on you." She's advancing towards him, all but daring him to pull the trigger. "Since then I've been workin' on ways to get even with you. Inara fallin' into my lap was a gift. Used all your old techniques on her. Knew, if the outfit you wear's for real, you' have to unburden your conscience once you recognized what had been done to her. Was hopin' Mal would kill you. But he's so full of shit!" She spits on his unconscious body. "Guess I'll have to do it myself." And suddenly she spins round on the ball of one foot and brings the other up into his gut. The Shepherd staggers and drops his weapon. Saffron stoops down and picks it up. "Got a prayer handy?" she jeers, aiming for his heart.

It's only fitting. Divine justice with more'n a touch of poetry to it. Book always suspected the Lord had a wicked sense of humour. He closes his eyes and waits.

The explosion is deafening. It splits the air into a million shards of pain and light. Something hot and wet hits Book's face. It trickles down into his mouth. He tastes blood. Disbelieving, he opens his eyes. On the floor, beside Mal's prone body, lies Saffron oozing blood from a neat round hole in the middle of her forehead.

A large, powerful hand slaps down between the Shepherd's shoulder blades. "How many times I got to tell you, Preacher? You need someone to spot you!"

* * * * *

"Wha' ...? Where ...?" The room is fuzzy and unexpected. What in the _diyu_ is he doing here? An' more importantly, does the vixen live?

"Back on the ship, Sir. Thanks to the Shepherd and Jayne," Zoe says, the ghost of a smile playing round her mouth threatening to blossom into a full-on grin.

"Huh? Good. Tha's good. Why does my head hurt?"

"That would be down to me, Captain," Book confesses, adding quickly, "I had my reasons" under Mal's fearsome glare.

"She dead?" Mal asks him hopefully.

"Yes. But that would be down to Jayne," the Shepherd tells him with a wry smile.

Mal's eyes shoot up. "He ignore a direct order and go into that whorehouse?" he demands.

"That he did," Book replies. "Saved both our lives."

Mal's eyes are slithering suspiciously from Preacher to grinning mercenary when Wash comes bursting into the infirmary.

"Uh, don't want to worry anyone but we're bein' followed. Got a Magpie on our tail."

Zoe raises an eyebrow. "Monty followed us?"

Wash shakes his head. "Not unless he ain't worried about core containment."

Wife and husband stare in horror at each other. Mal springs up from the exam table and rushes up to the bridge.

* * * * *

"Okay, we got ourselves a situation here," Mal says grimly. "Seems what we thought was a Firefly in trouble was nothin' but a lure. Unfortunately, we wa'n't the only ones picked up the distress call. Looks like Reavers homed in on it an' now they're lookin' to take down the ship that sent it. We match the profile."

Kaylee feels like her knees are going to give way.

"We get boarded – Zoe, the Preacher, Jayne and me might make a fight of it. Then again, we might not. Which is why you .." his eyes go to Wash, Kaylee, River and Simon in turn .."gotta have a weapon."

Zoe steps up and hands a small firearm to each of them.

"I don't know if..." Simon begins.

Kaylee looks at the gun in her hand. "Di'n't make much account of myself with a gun las' time," she says. "Not sure I'll be much use to you, Cap'n."

"Not askin' you to fight li'l Kaylee," Mal tells her sadly, squeezing her arm gently.

She shakes her head, uncomprehending.

River leans her own head on the mechanic's shoulder. "Only one bullet," she states with a reassuring smile. "Not for the Reavers. For you."


	21. Pairings

Wash's blood pressure – already soaring at the prospect of his becoming part of a Reaver's wardrobe – cranks up a notch or two as the pilot stares down at the tiny gun his wife's just handed him. The slight to his manhood is unmistakable. 'Little man, little gun' as Jayne might have put it. Zoe, Mal, Jayne and even the gorram preacher are toting colossal weapons whereas his has all the potent menace of a shrivelled dick.

Wash has noticed something about the hierarchy on this boat: the more destructive you are, the higher you rate in the pecking order. Being good at something other than killing counts against you. Not having spent a lot of time shooting people, slitting their throats or plain old blowing 'em up Wash has it hard enough, but Simon – who saves lives rather than taking them – ranks lowest of all. Kaylee's probably next, because she fixes things instead of breaking 'em. Then it's him, Wash. In the middle there's Book and River who despite their respective piety and kookiness know one end of a gun from the other. Top end of the scale there's the psychotic Captain. He's maybe not as deadly as Zoe nor as eager for a fight as Jayne, but he's got that whole shoot-first-ask-questions-later thing going on. Plus a tendency for self destruction. Wash grunts and tries not to think about that conversation Zoe and Mal think he didn't overhear. Or about Inara's syringe. Because he'd sure hate to put them in a position where they might have to show him some respect.

He's jolted out of his resentful musings when Serenity is rocked by a powerful shockwave, not once but twice. _Wo de ma_! The _feng le de biao zi de ben erzi_ are bombarding them with electronic cannon fire! His fantasy of winning a macho pissing contest against Mal will have to wait. Better get his ass in the pilot's seat – his seat – and fast.

"Not fair," River sighs wearily.

Kaylee looks across at Simon. "It sure ain't," she agrees sadly, remembering the feel of his skin, the touch of his hand. Sure, she's terrified - but the reason tears are springing to her eyes is she fears she may never know them again.

"Nothing fair about this 'verse, _mei-mei_," Mal mutters as he leans over Wash's shoulder, staring out into the endless, meaningless black. "Where are they?"

"Behind us and above, slightly to port. Closing fast."

Jayne has gone visibly pale. "Then get us movin' faster, dumbass!"

"_Bizui_!" Mal snaps. "Kaylee, engine room -_ ma shang_. Take the Doc with you. Might be useful. Wash, what options we got speed-wise?"

"None. Magpies've got twice the acceleration of a Firefly. Maybe more, operating without core containment."

Mal presses his lips together. "We got no advantages?"

"Manoeuvrability. We can fly faster over uneven ground, get deep into valleys."

Jayne snorts. "Ain't no valleys in the black." Wash's lack of a snarky comeback is all kinds of troublin'.

"Turn round. Head back to Newhall," Mal orders, avoiding eye contact with his crew. He got no notion to be debatin' this.

"You protect the man you're with." River's voice is oddly deep and gruff. "You watch his back. Everyone knows that."

Jayne wants to find comfort in the fact Mal's got a plan but he don't like the sound of this. "We land, we'll be easy pickin's, Mal. They'll kill every last one of us. You, me ... Kaylee."

Mal puts a hand on each of the mercenary's shoulders and brushes them off, like he's sprucing him up for some big event. "Ain't gonna land, Jayne," he says with one of those bewilderingly bright smiles he uses to shut people out before flicking on the comms. "You hear me Kaylee? Get her ready for hard burn."

"We can't outrun them Mal," Wash tells him impatiently.

"Smiling first a little smile, as if he knew where magic slept."

"Shut her up!" Jayne yells.

River continues, unperturbed. "And when all were in to the very last, the door in the mountain-side shut fast."

Mal shoots her a look of astonishment. That girl spend all her time wanderin' through his brain? He turns back to Wash. "There's a range of hills, just behind the Blue Sun mine. Want you to fly us fast as we can into it ... " Wash is about to point out the suicidal nature of this plan when Mal continues, "Pull us up at the very last minute. Any luck, they won't have time to change course."

Wash stares at the Captain. It's a plan, no denying it. But ... "Mal, the town's right in the foothills. All those people ... When that Reaver ship goes down ..."

Kaylee's horrified gasp is loud enough to carry over the comms system. "Don't Newhall have other hills?"

"Even if'n they do, ain't got time to look for 'em," Mal says firmly. "You get ready for Wash's signal, Kaylee. Wash – do it."

Wash looks to Zoe, then to the Preacher. Neither contradicts the order. Okay, he gets it - this boat's not run by committee, not the ruttin' town hall. He slides the forward drive control into position and activates the stabilizers. "Ready, Kaylee? Open the g-line and give me one hundred per cent fuel feed."

For a few moments Serenity seems to hover uncertainly, trembling under Wash's skilled hands. He flicks his magic switches – one, two, three – and pushes the steering wheel sharply forward. Given her head, Serenity lurches forward, throwing Jayne against the wall and Book into Mal. Wash looks round at them. "Can't do fast and smooth. Better find somethin' to grab ahold of."

Zoe's supper threatens to make a reappearance as she struggles to keep her balance. The baby kicking up a storm don't help much either. Another blast of cannon fire makes the ship pitch and roll as if it were on the wild seas of Earth-that-was. Jayne curses under his breath. Book would be praying if it weren't for the irony of asking God's blessing on a strategy that kill many more people than it saves. There's a shudder and creak and it feels like Serenity has just hit a wall. The windows frame red instead of black.

"What the _diyu_ you doin'?" Jayne yells as he's thrown from one handhold to another.

"Re-entry," Wash explains mildly. "Oughta slow them down a bit too."

Zoe catches Mal's eye and holds it a while, reading there the unspoken vow to his crew, to her. Knows what this is costing him. Mal don't kill 'less he has to – and even then it cuts deep.

"Okay, now for the exciting part," Wash warns. He doesn't catch the black look Jayne's giving him. Big man's never felt space-sick before and it's makin' him all tetchy an' ill-tempered.

The view through the windows is of land now. Brown dusty tracks cutting through yellow-green fields, turning into grey streaks of tarmac, then broad roads. Occasional houses flashing by seem to coalesce, form bigger clumps as villages, then towns appear. Finally Capital City spreads out under them, stretching back to the mountains beyond.

Mal holds his breath. Time was a situation like this would've had him puttin' his soul in the Lord's hands. Time long past. The mountains go from pale to dark blue as they loom larger. Details appear – scrub, crevasses, jagged peaks. Day turns into night again and the bridge grows dark as the oncoming wall of rock shuts out the sunlight. Mal blinks. His pupils ain't had time to adjust and he can't make out a gorram thing. Just gotta trust Wash to get it done.

It's like takin' a bullet in the gut, Mal decides as he loses his grip on back of the pilot's chair and the air is knocked out of him. He finds himself flying backwards, crashing heavily to the floor. Jayne falls alongside him. They exchange a look of amazed relief.

"We still alive?" the mercenary asks, hardly able to believe it.

"Looks like," Mal grunts, getting unsteadily back to his feet. "Everyone OK?" He leans into the comms. "Kaylee? How you an' the Doc farin'?"

"We're shiny, Cap'n," she replies but even over the comms she sounds shaken. Behind her there's the faint sound of retching.

"Nausea induced by sensory mismatch," River declares. Her smile is calm, if uncomprehending of the others' surprise at her sang froid. "Reeds in the wind do not break."

Mal gives a bemused little shake of his head and straightens his suspenders. He consults the radar screen for confirmation his plan paid off. The screen blinks back: dangerously high levels of radiation and fire at Capital City.

"Circle back," he tells Wash.

The pilot is horrified. They have to go back? Count the bodies? See yet again why Mal is top of the food chain? "What for? You wanna gloat over the destruction? That's just sick!"

"Wash, honey..." Zoe begins but it's too late. Mal has grabbed her husband by the front of his gaudy shirt, hauled him from his seat and smacked him hard into a wall. Jayne backs off discreetly. Mal gets right in Wash's face, the dangerous glitter in his eyes making the smaller man freeze. Wash shoots Zoe a plea for support but she drops her eyes to the floor. Might have known she'd side with Mal, her good old army buddy, if forced to choose. He looks back at Mal and for excruciatingly long moments they stare angrily at each other. Then abruptly Mal releases him. "Circle back. I ain't askin'."

Wash squares his shoulders defiantly but resumes his seat. Alters course, circles back.

"Bring us in lower," Mal orders."Get me visual."

It's a horrifying sight, Zoe has to admit. Them buildin's as're left standin' mostly on fire. People runnin' about randomly, mouths loosin' screams that can't be heard up here in Serenity. She closes her eyes. When she reopens them, Mal is still staring down, almost as if he's memorizing ever detail. Beside him, Wash is struggling to process the scene of devastation. He's a commercial pilot, not a fighter ... and yet ... there's something awfully familiar about all this.

Suddenly Mal turns and without a backward glance descends the stairs.

"Crazy sonofabitch did it!" Jayne grins widely once he's gone and, for emphasis, gives Wash a powerful slap on the back.

"Only because he's psychotic," Wash snaps. "Only a psychopath would want to go back ..."

"You're wrong," Book interrupts him. "He went back because he had to. Most men won't take responsibility for their actions. Excuses, denial – it all makes life easier. The Captain's not most men. Had to see. Bear the full weight of it."

Painful truth plainly stated has a way of silencing folk. Zoe, Wash, Book and Jayne are all kinds of uncomfortable right now.

"Cap'n? You still need me up here?" The sound of Kaylee's voice gives them an excuse to put their embarrassments aside.

"No. Job's done," Zoe tells her. "Get some rest. It's been one hell of a day."

* * * * *

Mal stares at his reflection and tries to remember a time when worry was not etched deep into every line on his face. When the muscles along his jaw line had not grown tight with clenching and when his eyes still shone with the exuberance of youth. The eyes that stare back haven't changed much in shape or clarity, but the darkness at their centre has grown, echoing his ever-growing emptiness. Spent so much time trying to protect his soft centre, he never noticed it was withering and dying. Soon all that's left will be the empty shell. Leaving him a shadow man in so many ways.

* * * * *

Zoe can tell Wash is angry before he even reaches the bottom of the ladder. The way he's clanging his feet down on the rungs is a sure indication. But she's tired, exhausted by the day's worry and danger. She's got neither the energy nor the patience to be shoring up her husband's fragile ego tonight. In fact, she's sick of doing it. Why does Wash have to interpret her loyalty to Mal as a betrayal? What cause has she ever given him to be jealous of Mal? She married him, didn't she? And much to Mal's displeasure at that. How many times does she have to say it? What does she have to do – beyond bearing his child – to prove that she loves him? She sighs heavily and pulls off a boot.

Haven't their private parties always been exultant, rapturous occasions? And Mal's as bad. Blaming her. Di'n't she beg him to save her from this man she knew was her destiny from the moment she set eyes on him? She all but pleaded with him to save her from the responsibility she knew awaited her, afraid as she was to step out of her subaltern shadows and into the limelight of command.

So what did Mal do about it? He didn't approve. Yeah, like that was going to derail Fate! All it did was make her more sure Wash was her other half, her soul mate. In the enormity of space and time she'd found the one man capable of opening doors she'd locked long, long ago and all Mal could do was sneer? Man had – has – a whole armoury of persuasive techniques at his disposal and he had to opt for a headlong confrontation? Knowing her as well as he did? _Tamade hundan_! He couldn't have tried the subtlety of hurt or the promise of flirtation? What about that well worn strategy of push and pull, snarl and smile, punch and protect that she's seen him use to reel in the most resistant of men and women? Inara's ice cool independence melted under it and it's sucking Simon in right now. She, Zoe, would not have been so easily duped but at least Mal could have tried. Gorramit! If she'd wanted to lead, she'd never've picked Mal to follow in the first place.

The Cap'n and her husband are as bad as each other, she concludes, promising herself she'll knock their heads together as soon as she's no longer pregnant. If she can be bothered ...

Wash is in desperate need of some reassurance about his place in Zoe's heart tonight but is too gorram stubborn to ask for it. He longs for Zoe to favour him with the secret sultry smile that tells him everything's okay. That _they_'re okay. But she won't meet his eyes and her brittle, weary movements convey nothing but disappointment in him.

Perhaps Mal was right after all. Perhaps they should never have married. When Zoe accepted his proposal he had to repeat the question, just to make sure she knew what she was agreeing to. Because dark goddesses don't normally wed the wacky little funny man. Little man. Point of interest – petty means little. Is he being petty?

Zoe shakes loose her hair in a torrent of curls that begs to be touched. She peels off her shirt and reveals the opalescent sheen of her skin. Totally naked now, she crosses the room, lithe and glorious despite, or perhaps because of, the growing weight of the child she carries. She slips silently under the covers and Wash starts tearing his clothes off, casting them in all directions in his hurry to join her.

Zoe is irritated by his "I love you, _baobei_" as he snuggles up to her because of its entreaty for her to say it back. Rather than get into a fight she says nothing.

"You are so beautiful," he continues, nuzzling her neck, "I could make love to you forever."

With another heavy sigh she removes the hand that has found its way to her breast and pointedly lays it on Wash's own chest. "Sorry, sweetcakes," she says, turning her back on him and fluffing up her pillow, "Not tonight. I'm too gorram tired."

Wash stares in disbelief at the wall of skin in front of his for several minutes. Didn't he just pull off the kind of aerobatic stunt that used to drive her crazy with lust? The kind of stunt that had her telling Mal to take the helm so's he could rip all her clothes off? _Wo de ma_! Don't that impress her any more? Is she teasing? Will she relent? No and no, a soft snore tells him. He flips over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling trying to ignore the devil voice in his head that taunts "She wouldn't have been too tired for him. Because he will always come first in her life. He's a real man – a hero in her eyes – in fact, everything you're not."

* * * * *

Devoted brother that he is, Simon checks on River every night before retiring to his own bed. He needs to be certain she's safe before he can abandon himself to sleep. And every night she plays her part in the fantasy, lying peaceful and still, looking after her brother even as he cares for her. But most nights she gets up to wander the ship. She wants to get to know her new mother, learn her secrets and memorize every detail lest she be lost too.

If Serenity talks to Kaylee, to River she sings. Her core is music. In repose she hums a deep textured melody whilst her pulsing engine beats time. Her song is like that of the whales which once haunted the endless ocean nights of Earth-that-was. Full of meaning for those who understand. Location, destination, identification. Music and math combined in a higher truth beyond the reach of mere reason.

River is dancing to Serenity's song, hearing nuances and variations that make her smile with recognition. Unable to sleep, Wash emerges from his bunk. He pauses and watches her drop a curtsey to an imaginary audience before raising herself up on tiptoe. One arm curved above her head, the other extended with palm upturned she does a swift pirouette. Three dainty steps -forward, side, back - and another pirouette. She realizes someone is there and stops.

"Whoa," Wash says, impressed. "Good dance."

"Triangulation. Getting my bearings. Used to dance a perfect circle, but now can't stop the tangential spinning." Her face crumples but the distress is fleeting and her smile quickly returns. "No-one travels as far as the man who doesn't know where he's going."

It's a gorram shame what those Alliance __ did to her. Flashes of her brilliant mind still ignite but whatever must she have been like before? Wash isn't a violent man, but if he could get his hands on the bastards who took the flower she was and ripped off the petals, he would ... well, something nasty. Sort of thing Mal might do. A fear ghosts through his mind. What if they ever did this to his child? That thought lends an awful clarity to the 'something nasty'. His mind fills with an image of himself as avenging angel, gleaming sword in hand hacking the heads off people capable of experimenting on children. Then he asks himself if he shouldn't be putting this fantasy into action? Because what kind of man – what kind of father – can pursue a normal life (as much as is possible on a spaceship), knowing that in the dark, hidden corners of the 'verse helpless children are still being tormented the way River was. Or worse.

River's hand on his cheeks brings Wash back from those hidden corners to Serenity. "Flowers need light as well as shelter," she informs him gently. "Be the sunshine." The she laughs. "We are who we are. And only Kaylee still lives in the garden."

* * * * *

Next morning Kaylee wakes up feeling hungry in every way possible. Yesterday Death opened its jaws and snapped at them but they beat it back. Now Life is rumbling, demanding to be fed. She rolls onto her side and gazes at the face on the pillow beside her. Simon's dark lashes flutter as wakefulness stirs and his lips twitch invitingly. She sprinkles a good helping of kisses on them, bringing him to full consciousness. His eyes open, shining blue as a spring morning, close and quickly reopen.

"Mornin', Simon. Sleep well?" She underlines the undisguised invitation in her smile with a slight wriggle of her hips.

"Um. Yes. Yes, thank you. What time is it?"

Kaylee chuckles low in her throat at his inappropriate politeness. Anyone'd think he ain't never woken up with a girl before. She runs a soft hand down from his chest to where smooth, pale skin meets dark, wiry curls. "Early enough that you don't need to be up yet." A twinkle. "Well, not out of bed.."

Simon catches the hand as it moves further south and brings it to his mouth, hoping to distract her with a kiss. This is all going too fast for him. Again. Flashback to his school days when he was too stiff with politeness, too gorged on learning, to run properly. The other kids would race ahead, leaving him struggling and panting in their wake. He kisses Kaylee's eager mouth and wishes she would slow down and wait for him.

But now her other hand is seeking him out and he knows she will not be denied. He takes a deep breath and tries to rise to the challenge.

Ten minutes of his best efforts – and hers – and ... nothing.

"I .. I must be tired. You know, with all the worry and ... Sorry, Kaylee. Maybe later."

She slaps his shoulder playfully. "Definitely later. Now – you hungry? For food, that is?" Another twinkle. Her undemanding cheerfulness prompts a rush of desire in Simon but he doesn't want to risk another failure. Not so soon. Doesn't want her to think he doesn't want her, because he does. Even if it means braving Mal's disapproval. Mal. Another rush of ... something. Something best not dwelt on.

* * * * *

"Di'n't mean to," Mal slurs, head lolling backwards, eyes rolling around unfocussed and bleary.

"Oh, it was an accident!" Zoe's voice is heavy with sarcasm as she glares down at his sprawled out body. "That's all right then. How much you had?"

"Jus' a li'l one. 'Nara ... she ... wine ... fresh."

"He's had all of it," Kaylee tells her, staring at the empty demijohn in horror. "Oh God, Zoe. It was the new batch. Not even diluted yet."

Zoe raises her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "So the Cap'n's poisoned himself? Oh, ain't that just great?"

"I'll get Simon." And Kaylee rushes off to the infirmary.

Jayne pops his head round the door to the engine room. He surveys Mal's now unconscious body. "My pop always said a man as can't hold his drink ain't a real man at all. Need a hand carryin' him?"

Has he forgotten? Zoe indicates her swollen belly with an emphatic gesture.

"I'll get the Preacher."

* * * * *

"Empty now. Again," River diagnoses, gently smoothing Mal's hair away from his face. Simon carefully extracts the plastic tubing from his airway. He hooks a hand under the Captain's left knees and rolls him into the recovery position. "The vomiting seems to have stopped, but better safe than sorry," he tells the anxious crew who have been here since he first started the lengthy process of flushing the alcohol out of Mal's body. Taking a key from one drawer to unlock another, he pulls out a syringe, fills it with antenebrium and jabs it through the leg of Mal's pants into his thigh. "That should lessen the after-effects, but he's going to feel pretty terrible when he comes to."

"Good," Zoe says with some satisfaction. He did this once before and she was so angry with him she prayed he would live so that she could strangle him with her own hands. It was the night after the first time he lost a man under his command. Ben Hickson. Just eighteen years old. Golden blond with the face of a cherub – a boy's face still, not a man's. Mal took losing him hard, so hard Zoe was not surprised he'd tried to drink himself to death. But she was so made at him for running out on her, she'd forced two fingers down his throat so hard he cou'n't speak for a week. Made him puke till there was nothing but muscle spasms left in him.

Simon's gentle ministrations are in stark contrast to the brutal remedies she employed all those years ago. The young doctor's eyes shimmer with concern and pity, whereas she's sure hers burnt with contempt for Mal's cowardice. Simon nurses where she rough-handled and empathizes where she sneered.

Zoe's eyes follow Simon's hand as he rubs the injection site and he flushes slightly when he sees her looking at him.

"No need to be so gorram gentle with him," she says impatiently. "He ain't a little girl."

Simon starts. For an instant he looks .... what? Guilty? Zoe shakes herself. She's the one who ought to be feelin' guilty. Cap'n di'n't mean to do it last time and in her heart she knows this time ain't no different.

"If he'd have let me give him a smoother in the first place none of this would've happened," Simon mutters to himself.

* * * * *

Book's lids feel heavy and his eyes are starting to close.

"You hit me again, Preacher?"

The Shepherd's eyes fly open and one corner of his mouth lifts. "No son. This you did yourself. How're you feelin'."

"Like the biggest dumb_ wangba dan_ in the 'verse. I am a bad man."

"We're all bad men, son. That's why we need faith, something to believe in."

"You tryin' to enlist me? Want me to join your church?"

"Heaven forbid!"

"Wha's wrong? You an' God had a fallin' out?"

"Not me and God. Me and the Abbey. It's a long story. Let's just say, I'm an Independent too now."

Mal cocks his head to one side as he puzzles on that and pushes himself into a sitting position. He swings his legs round, trying to ignore the way the room is rotating.

"Don't think you should be getting' up without the Doctor's say-so," Books tells him.

"Huh. Well, like you, I'm independent . Spent too much gorram time in here already."

From the doorway, Simon sighs. "You need to rest Mal. Your sys..."

Mal is on his feet but the rotations have gathered speed. His legs buckle. Simon rushes over to provide support. "Okay, you don't have to stay in the infirmary," he bargains, "But you do have to stay in your bunk." And he gives Mal his best stern face.

"You – Doctor -," Mal says with a sudden wicked grin as he taps a forefinger against Simon's chest, "Are always wantin' to get me into bed."

Simon huffs and Mal chuckles. He'd forgotten what fun there was in baiting his medic.

* * * * *

"Mal - you don't have to die alone." At first he thinks it's another nightmare, but the hand on his shoulder is real enough. As is the laughter that follows. "Just when I think I've got you figured out."

"River? That you?" Mal demands groggily. "Why're you in my bunk?"

Another laugh. "Because it's manly and impulsive."

"Okay," he says carefully, "Why don't you be a good girl and go back to your brother?"

"Can't," she pouts, "He's having sexual intercourse with Kaylee. Again."

"Wha'?!" He snaps on the light and does a double-take. River is standing before him, hair piled in dark curls on top of her head and dressed in Inara's red satin dress. He glowers at her. "This ain't funny."

"Can't just leave you here. Simon found me broken. Sticks me together with needles and love. Found you broken. I can be her. Fix you." River explains, taking his face between her hands. Her voice drops a pitch or two and takes on Inara's confidence. "You want me. I prefer something with a few miles on it."

He ain't forgotten the way she kissed him before. Like she'd mapped the contours of his desire and learnt them by heart. The devil comes in many forms, Mal's Momma used to warn. This him here tonight? "No." He pulls away from her touch.

River raises her eyebrows in an exact imitation of Inara's expression. "Mal, if you're being a gentleman, I may die of shock!"

"Yeah," he grunts. "You an' me both."

River slips the robe from her shoulders and lets it pool to the floor, leaving her totally naked. "One of the benefits about not being puritanical about sex is not being embarrassed ... You should look into it." And she sits down next to him, all doe eyes and white skin.

"Whoa! Flesh!" He looks quickly away and manages to keep his eyes averted. It's all the opportunity she needs. A quick stab into his upper arm and the smoother is in. His head whips round and he stares at the needle. "You ..." The growl turns into a purr as he slumps back against the pillow.

"Time to go to sleep," River smiles down at him like a mother over her sleeping child. She takes the syringe and lays it carefully on the table. Then she climbs over Mal and insinuates herself between his warm, inert body and the bulkhead. She kisses his cheek. "When you live with strength, you get tied to it."

* * * * *

Another day of feeling second best, of being pushed to the side as Zoe frets about Mal. Wash has had enough. He's decided to do it. Change the balance of power. Upset the food chain.

Serenity's night lights provide all the illumination he needs. Doesn't want to be drawing attention to himself by putting on full power lighting. He moves swiftly the the drawer that he knows Simon keeps locked. It has to be there. He pulls the drawer above it open to its full extent and forces a hand through the narrow gap. He gropes around blindly, feeling for the low narrow box and swearing at the metal runners which slice skin from his knuckles. Ha! There it is. The angle is difficult to negotiate but Wash has rarely been so determined. Finally the box is his.

He decides it's best to use the syringe here in the infirmary. And quickly. The longer he hesitates, the more likely it is someone will discover him with it. Or he will lose his nerve.

Good thing Simon explained how it's done. He taps the syringe and checks for air bubbles. Clear. Then he balls his left hand into a fist, squeezing and releasing it rhythmically until a vein stands proud on his inner elbow. He wasn't joking about being squeamish. He lines the needle up but has to look away as it penetrates the skin. With a shaking thumb he depresses the plunger, imagining the serum mixing with his life's blood.

At first he feels nothing, other than a little foolish. Then there's a sensation like time is slipping and he's standing still. Kind of like how he feels the day after a night of trying to match Jayne drink for drink. Shrill ringing fills his ears and his balance dissolves so that standing is no longer an option. His knees fold of their own volition and he slides down against the medicine cabinet. OK, so this was a dumb idea. A really dumb idea. A Jayne-class dumb idea. He wonders if he might die ...

Half an hour later he wishes he could

* * * * *

"Wash! _Baobei_! You're scaring me." Zoe doesn't use the 's' word lightly in respect to herself. But her husband – her stupid, jealous, wacky, precious husband – is squatting on the infirmary floor, face hidden behind his hands and rocking like a traumatized child.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God!"

With difficulty she crouches down beside him, eyes brimming with worry and love. "Wash – please tell me. What's wrong?"

"Can't."

"You can. I'm your wife. I love you. I will always love you."

He peeks at her between his fingers. "You will?" Hopeful, but not convinced.

"We're having a baby, Wash. Please ..."

"I'd have killed you," he whispers hoarsely, "If I'd had the chance."

Jayne, who'd stumbled across the pilot during an exhaustive search for any alcohol that Mal might have failed to drink, gives a snort of derision. "You might've tried, little man, but she could wup your ass any day."

Zoe's silencing glare is met with a surly twist of the mercenary's lips.

"I bombed them. During the war." Wash is crying now.

The words don't make any sense. Zoe can't process them at all. Absurdly, all she can think is how strange it is she's never noticed a particular freckle on Wash's forehead before.

"I bombed them," he repeats miserably.

Now the words do make sense, try as she might to stop them. "You were in Serenity Valley?" she asks slowly, now hardly recognizing her own voice.

Wash turns bleak, pleading eyes on her. "No. Thank God for that at least. But I was Alliance, Zoe. I ... I fought for the gorram Alliance!"

* * * * *

He thinks the insistent knocking is River demanding entry with her customary poor timing. Kaylee teases him by mimicking his frustrated expression as he pulls on his pants and opens the door. But instead of River, Zoe is standing there.

"It's Wash," she says quietly, allaying his fears. "Think he might appreciate a smoother."

"I'll be right there."

Zoe's solemn eyes fall on Kaylee. The mechanic gives her a girly little wave from the bed and the corner of Zoe's mouth turns imperceptibly upwards.

* * * * *

Having something concrete to do helps a little but Simon still feels hot and flustered. He grimaces as he relives the moment the door opened, exposing him to Zoe's knowing gaze. Much as he tries not to, he can't help but rerun the scenario through his mind only this time the door opens on Mal. The image is so vivid it provokes an interesting physiological response. Simon manages to go hot and cold at the same time. Hot with embarrassment and cold with guilt. As if his being with Kaylee is a betrayal of the deepening understanding between himself and Mal.

How would Mal react? Simon's hand move automatically to his lip and jaw in anticipation of the imagined punch. Yes, a punch would probably ensue.

He checks Wash's vitals and pronounces his physical condition within normal parameters. His blood pressure is perhaps a little high, but the problem responds quickly to the intravenous administration of an antihypertensive. Simon is intrigued by the efficacy of the drug Wash took. The pilot appears to have total recall of an entire previous existence whilst retaining the persona he has inhabited for the past six years. His psychological integrity is uncompromised, despite understandable feelings of guilt and insecurity. Simon wishes he had access to all the data regarding the experiment that so successfully transformed Tao Collins into Hoban (merciful Buddha – what a name!) Washburne and on the serum which equally successfully brought him back. On the intellectual level alone it would be exciting ... but on the emotional level it's thrilling. What might this mean for River? Simon tries not to believe he's on the verge of finding a cure for her.

Jayne is beginning to see the funny side. "Let's see ... Wash here – or Tao as I guess we should be callin' him – was Alliance. An' Zoe an' Mal was Browncoats." He grins. " I imagine this is gonna get interestin' when Mal finds out."

"He already knows," Zoe admits in a low tone. "Monty kinda told us."

Simon's mouth falls open. So Mal has been carrying this too? Pretending he doesn't know Wash was once his enemy? Struggling with the realization that he not only gave that enemy a job but also saw him married to his closest friend? On top of all his other problems? No wonder his judgement's been rendered fuzzy. Despair has been spiralling under him for months - years - on end. It's hardly surprising he's losing the will to fight it.

Wash makes a strange noise, somewhere between a sob and a groan. "He knows?" he repeats, bleak eyes on Zoe as he shakes his head in disbelief. "I ... I thought ... thought I was on your side. A Browncoat hero, not this. Thought he was jealous of me cuz I was a bigger hero than him." The inescapable truth that he is a little man – a petty man – is a hard one to face. Mal's insane and he's damn well been trying to save him again. Keep him from breaking under the strain of his inglorious past. Take it all on himself, just like with Niska. Well, this time Wash ain't gonna let him. If Mal's losing the ability to crawl, Wash will carry him. Won't leave him behind.

Psychology was not Simon's best subject at MedAcad but he remembers enough to know the healing power of hope, of having a purpose. It's surely not a bad thing his interests and Mal's are intersecting? If Wash can just .... "How much do you remember?" he asks the pilot bluntly. "Of what they did to you?"

"Not much. I was in this hospital - high tech, all the latest gizmos. There was a man... and a woman. Blue gloves. Goslings. Talk of an award ..."

Simon pushes down the excitement that bubbles up at the mention of blue gloves. "Where was this hospital?"

Wash frowns with the effort of trying to dredge up the memory. He's just about to give up when ... "Greenleaf! It was Greenleaf. But ... " He wants to ask what Simon's planning but then it dawns on him. "You think they'll have a cure for her?"

Simon smiles and shrugs. "Maybe. If we're lucky. But I think Mal will want to try. Or at least, I hope he will."

Wash nods. It's all kinds of appropriate. The two fellas at the bottom of the pile, the ones who know how to do constructive stuff, helping the Captain to his feet again. And maybe, just maybe, helpin' Mal help River will wash away the past.

* * * * *

As he descends the ladder into Mal's bunk, he feels the same kind of exhilaration he experienced on discovering a new way to prevent myocardial infarction in trauma patients. He's sure offering Mal a new goal in life will produce the same warm glow of satisfaction.

Then he sees her. River. Ironic. It turns out the disaster scenario is not Mal discovering him in bed with Kaylee but this.

The physiological response is the same. Hot, then cold. Hot with anger. The one man he thought he could trust has violated that trust in the most hideous way. How could he? How dare he? Mal might make the rules on this ship but there are universal laws of decent, appropriate behaviour that even he has no right to break. And not taking to bed with a girl as damaged and vulnerable as his sister is one of them.

Cold because he chose her.

Simon can scarcely think. A maelstrom of rage, pain, disillusionment, loss and jealousy makes his palms clammy and beads of sweat appear on his forehead. His pulse races and he struggles to breathe. It feels like he's being choked. There's not enough air. It feels like the walls are closing in and the room is turning into a box. A coffin. And someone is nailing down the lid.

He gasps for oxygen as he goes back up the ladder. He can't just leave. He has to deal with this. Explain things to Mal. Make him listen. A bitter laugh escapes Simon's tight throat. How in the 'verse does he think he'll achieve that?

Mal's sarcastic grin flashes before his eyes and mocking words taunt him. "You rich kids! Think your life is the the only one that matters. Don't push me, boy. Lily-white and pasty all over!" In Simon's imagination Mal fires the words at him like bullets from a gun.

A gun.

The only time Simon has even seen Mal forced to hold his tongue was at gunpoint.

Suddenly it's easier to breathe.


	22. Endgame

If it were not for the piercing screams, Kaylee might be able to persuade herself that those two sharp pops were just the engine misfiring after all its recent exertions. But screams mean trouble, an' no mistake.

Zoe, Jayne, Book and now Wash – to his immense surprise – know the sound of gunfire when they hear it. The screaming just tells them which direction to head in. Mal's bunk.

They all pile in, expecting the worst. Expecting River to have shown more deadly prowess with a firearm and fearing for Mal's life. The scene before them is something else entirely.

Simon is half-sitting, half-collapsed on Mal's desk – the blotting pad conveniently soaking up the blood spilling from a wound in his thigh – and trying to fend off the slaps his naked sister is raining down on him. "Stupid boob! Stupid. Thought we loved Daddy? No touching guns. Playing doctors, not doctors and nurses. Gave him the smoother. You said." She picks up the empty syringe on the table beside him. "The Captain needs to rest." Simon groans.

Mal has had time to pull on his pants but is otherwise undressed. He's clutching his upper arm tightly and glaring at his medic with ice-cold rage. A thin ribbon of red trickles out between his fingers.

"Want to tell me what's happened here, son?" Book asks mildly.

"Nothin' to earn me a place in your special hell, let me tell you that."

Jayne isn't interested in explanations. He's on Simon in an instant. Ignoring his cry of pain, the mercenary pushes him to the ground, rolls him onto his front and pulls both arms up behind his back. He sits down heavily on the medic's back, making him wince and moan.

Mal blinks at the big man's speed and efficiency. At the way he never hesitated. If he's sometimes had doubts about Jayne's loyalty in the past, they evaporate now. The big man looks up at Mal, panting slightly. All bright eyes and lolling tongue. Another tug on the Doc's wrists to make him yell – just once more for the sheer pleasure of it – and he asks hopefully, "Want me to space 'im for ya, Mal?"

Mal shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck wearily. "No. Jus' tie him up. Lock him in his bunk." He's congratulating himself on being gorram merciful considering the circumstances when Kaylee marches up to him and brings the flat of her hand across his cheek. He hears the slap before he feels it.

"You're a monster! You shot him! He's bleedin'. He needs a doctor his own self. You can't be lockin' him up!" Then suddenly the fire goes out of her anger. "Look at all that blood, Cap'n. He could die .... " Tears. Silent, abundant tears, followed by a determined little toss of her chestnut hair and a steely look. "I'll never speak to you again if ...."

The blow didn't sting but her words do. Mal's can't bear the thought of upsetting Kaylee, although whether that's for her sake or his own he ain't rightly sure. "Okay, okay. Jayne – take the Doctor to the infirmary. Guess you an' me better scrub up, Zoe."

"Might be best to let others handle it." Book's tone is so gentle he makes it sound like a suggestion. But he's not gonna let the Captain get himself in the path of temptation. Men as've been shot tend to be tetchy. And tetchy can turn violent. "I'll give Zoe a hand. Had some experience of these things."

Mal holds his gaze. "I'll bet."

Meanwhile Jayne has slung Simon over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Through the blur of pain, Simon wonders if he's ever felt more humiliated. It seems unlikely. His arms hang loosely down and he bounces against Jayne's broad back with each step the mercenary takes up the ladder. Just as they reach the top, Jayne adjusts his grip making the doctor yelp. Simon decides he can't possibly feel any more shamed than he already does. And it has to be said.

"I'm sorry, Mal. I thought ..."

* * * * *

With a twist of his shoulders, Jayne dumps Simon unceremoniously onto the exam table and, when the doctor moans, sneers "Quit whinin'. You ain't dead. Yet."

"Nice bedside manner," Zoe remarks, snapping on a pair of surgical gloves.

"Hey! He's lucky to be breathin'," Jayne replies with a fierce glare at the writhing doctor. "Used to keel-haul traitors back in the day."

"D'you even know what that means?" Wash demands, because he can't help feeling sorry for Simon. Who on this boat hasn't toyed with the idea of shooting Mal at one time or another? He know for damn sure that Jayne has.

The mercenary narrow his eyes."Might've known you'd be on his side against Mal. You bein' Alliance an' all."

"That'll do, son," Book warns. Jayne grunts and stomps out of the room.

"Never used a general myself. You?" Zoe asks Book as she cuts away part of the leg of Simon's pants in order to clean up his wound. He shakes his head. "Guess we'll have to do without. Dope him up good, Shepherd."

Wash watches with quiet admiration as his wife and the Preacher set about removing the bullet from Simon's thigh and dressing the wound. The patient, however, is far from quiet. The large shot of lithium Book gave him has loosened his tongue and he's saying the strangest things.

"Two by two ... never get picked ... last on every team ... not weak ... pretty fits ... fancible .. eyes ... not River ... me ... came back for me ... nice eyes... tight p.."

Wash catches his breath and Book murmurs "Oh my!" Zoe merely rolls her eyes. Well that explains a lot of things. She ties off a final suture and removes her gloves. Books tells her to go get some rest herself, promising to watch over the doctor and that he'll call her if there's any problem.

On the way back to their bunk, Wash's mind turns back to his own problems. He stops abruptly and takes Zoe's hands in his. She is so beautiful, so amazing in every way. But she was – and always will be – a Browncoat whereas he was Alliance. More for the thrill of flying than out of any political conviction if he recalls right. But he was her enemy. Mal's enemy. To him she will always smell sweet, but he can imagine the kind of stench he is giving off. Are they doomed now? Star-crossed?

Zoe tilts her head to one side. "What is it?"

"You haven't said anything ... about me being ... on the other side." Ah, the shelter of euphemism!

"You neither. Guess you're tryin' to work out your priorities." She looks away. "Sort out where your loyalties lie ..."

Wash flushes excitedly. "_Zao cao_, Zoe! I don't need to do that. My loyalty is to you. And our baby." He smiles, a little embarrassed "You know, I used to dream of you, even back then, long before I ever met you."

Her mouth is smiling but her eyes are uncertain. "So, you ain't fixin' to leave?"

He frowns. "You di'n't really think...?"

Zoe lets out a breath, and her fears about her marriage with it. "Thought you might hate us – me – as much as we hated them." Now it's her turn to look sheepish.

Tonight is turning into one of the weirdest in Wash's whole life. But the strangest thing of all is the thought that this goddess of a warrior woman is afraid of losing him. He pulls her into his arms and tries to say everything that's in his heart with a kiss.

* * * * *

09.30 hours is late for Serenity's crew to be taking breakfast but no-one slept well last night. Jayne spent most of the night seething at Mal's unwarranted leniency towards Simon and it took Kaylee hours to calm River down. Even then she couldn't sleep. Felt like Mal had ahold of one side of her heart and Simon the other and that they were trying to rip it apart. Wash and Zoe spent most of the night talking, trying to convince themselves everything will be all right. Zoe's still in bed, but Wash is at the table, pasty and yawning. And not looking forward to the talk he needs to have with Mal.

Book enters looking exhausted. His all-night vigil over Simon has painted dark circles under his eyes. Kaylee hopes that ain't a bad sign. "How is he, Shepherd? How's Simon?"

"Totally off his nut," Mal declares, heading for the coffee pot and pretending not to notice the face Kaylee is pulling at him. "See what happens when you do someone a good turn, Preacher? They turn round an' bite ya for it."

"Maybe he was thinkin' the very same," Book replies. "All he's done for you of late an' you take advantage of his sister."

Mal slams his fist down on the counter, although he looks like he'd've preferred to punch it into the Shepherd's face. "You, Preacher, have a very smutty mind," he says, wagging a finger at him.

"Uh, talking of River, Mal, I had a thought," Wash interrupts in the interests of peace. "Things're coming back to me. About where I was when they scrambled my brain."

"Wha's that got to do with River?"

"Well, I was thinkin' we could track down the people that did it and maybe persuade them to unscramble River."

"Might make life on Serenity simpler, us not carrying a sleepin' assassin on board," Book comments.

Mal nods. He ain't forgotten that little complication neither. But .. "How we gonna 'persuade' Alliance whitecoats to help a bunch of nobodies and worse like us? More likely they'll snatch li'l sis and turn her in for the ransom."

Wash's hope wilts, but Book touches his shoulder. "It's a good plan, son. And as for dealing with the Alliance whitecoats – well I've still got my ID card. What d'you say, Captain? It would be the right thing to do. And I know you're big on doing the right thing."

Mal skewers him with a sharp look for his sarcasm but eventually concedes, "Yeah. It is a good plan, Wash. So where we goin'?"

Wash beams at him. At last! A plan Mal di'n't jus' dismiss out of hand. "Greenleaf."

"Greenleaf?" Kaylee pipes up. "Why that ain't but a day out from Eden. Maybe after we could swing by an' see my daddy?" She's doin' that damn wheedlin' thing that Mal can never resist. "Could we, Cap'n?"

That li'l girl has a way with those eyes that can melt a strong man's resolve at fifty paces. Mal knows when he's beat. He gives her a lop-sided smile and nods. "Okay. After."

She jumps up and hugs him. "See – you can be a nice man!" She gives a little squeal of excitement. "I'm gonna send daddy a wave right now. Let him know we're comin'."

Jayne coughs. "Eden ain't that far from Argent. Wou'n't mind a visit to my folks neither. I'll introduce you to my Pa, Mal. You'll like him. An' those mares could use some solid ground."

* * * * *   
Zoe finds Mal sitting at his desk, going over Serenity's books.

"Morning, Sir. How you feelin'?"

"He shot me, Zoe. That feng le dumbass doctor shot me."

"Well, you were in bed with his sister."

"I was not in bed with his sister!" Zoe raises her eyebrows and pulls an unconvinced face. "She was in bed with me."

"Thanks for clarifyin', Sir."

"What you seem to be forgettin' here is that I was shot on my own gorram boat by my own gorram medic!"

"To be fair, Sir, he only grazed you."

"There was a gun involved. And a bullet. Not much comfort in knowin' I'm only alive cuz the _hundan_ can't shoot straight. Ain't got no right pickin' up guns if you can't shoot straight," he grumbles.

"Sure you'll tell him so, Sir," Zoe says.

"Oh I will. An' a whole lot more too. He'll have to go."

"Don't be stupid, Sir."

"Stupid?! I can't keep him on board after this. How'd I know he won't do it again?"

"You'll have to talk to him, Sir. Sort things out between you." She's smirking now. Why?

"What things?" Suspicious, and not at all sure he wants her to tell him.

"Think it's the old problem, Sir." The look he gives her is deliberately blank. "You know, Sir. Kind of trouble you had with Tracey."

"Human organs? Organs other than his own?"

Zoe clamps her top lip down hard over the bottom one which is curving upward, threatening a grin if not an outright laugh. "In a manner of speaking, Sir. Remember the trouble you had with Tracey durin' the war? An' Bendis? An' what was that other boy called ..."

Mal glowers at her long and hard. "This ain't funny, Zoe."

At last the smile breaks through. "Oh, I think you'll find it is, Sir."

* * * * *

"What is this?" Rantoong asks as Parkin slides a sheet of paper towards him.

"A transcript of a wave from Frye's daughter," his colleague tells him as he paces the floor.

"I haven't got time for trivia..." Rantoong begins, even as he automatically scans the document. "Ah, I see. And we're sure their going to Greenleaf is not merely coincidental?"

"Well, according to data from trials similar to that conducted on Collins, the chemical implant may well have become unstable. Eventually his immune system eliminate it."

Rantoong sucks his fleshy lower lip into his mouth pensively. "You think that process had started?"

"Possibly. Then again, we never did locate that batch of antidote my former Browncoat colleague entrusted to the whore. Add to that the presence of not only a talented physician but also none other than The Malleus on that Firefly and it's not unreasonable to assume Serenity's crew may be on the verge of a disturbing discovery. Disturbing for the Corporation and by extension, us."

"That cannot be allowed to occur. We have our other facilities to think of. Besides, the Greenleaf unit has failed to meet its targets for the past three years." Rantoong taps his fingers on his desk as he considers his options. "Make the arrangement with Tanaka, will you?"

"You think he can handle this on his own?"

"I don't see why not. He did serve as bombardier to the best pilot the Alliance has ever had. And from what I've seen of him, he does seem to have picked up a little of Collins' flair."

"How large a bomb should I order?"

"Large enough to raze the place to the ground."

"It might be more efficient to coordinate the bombardment with Reynolds' arrival. Wipe out all the birds with one stone."

Rantoong shakes his head with an almost voluptuous smile. "Oh no, I don't think so. Better get it done before they arrive. Reynolds is a most interesting player and I may need him for another little game sometime. And of course, he still has the girl on board. Too precious a piece to be squandered."

* * * * *

At the sound of footsteps, Simon tries to slither further under the sheets. Like a bug seeking sanctuary under a stone. The footsteps pause and he tries not to move at all. Silence.

The footstep begin again, doing a circuit of the bed. Simon wishes the floor were made of paper and that each footfall would punch a tiny hole in it so that when they finally stop, the floor will drop away into the Black taking him with it.

"Know you're awake. Nobody lies that still 'less they're awake. Or dead." Mal. Well it would be, wouldn't it?

Simon slowly opens one eye and starts. Mal's face is nearer than he'd expected and for a moment his eye seems huge. Like how the eye of the kid who lifts the stone must look to the bug underneath it. He stares back at Mal, gritting his teeth and waiting for the boot to come down and squish him.

Mal can't help it. There's something about Simon's body language that has always screamed 'prey'. The way he freezes in the headlamps of Mal's eyes. All twitchy and tense, like a gorram rabbit waiting to be killed. Boy might as well pin a cotton-tail to his ass. Because as soon as he loses his nerve, Mal will have to chase him. It's only natural.

"Uh. Mal. I'm ..."

Yup. That'll do it. Mal leans in closer. "What, Doc?" he asks, all wide-eyed interest and false smile.

Somehow Simon manages to sit up and avoid actual physical contact.

"Stay where y'are Doc. No need to be upstandin' on my account." Mal prowls around the exam table again and dodging the overhead light, leans in, staring the younger man in the eye. "Although I mus' say – glad to know every member of my crew is ready to serve." The slightest hint of a leer underlines the double-entendre.

Just once, Simon would like Mal to take him seriously. But Mal finds his medic endlessly amusing, in a bumbling, misfit kind of way. And it's damn annoying. In his life before, back on Osiris, Simon was a man to be respected. Powerful, even. If Mal had know him then ... well, he wouldn't be smirking and mocking quite so often.

Simon stands up, trying to ignore the pain in his leg, because upright is less vulnerable. Mal leans back against the bed, arms crossed over his chest and looking smug. "Zoe tells me we need to talk." He pauses, because it's all manner of entertainin' to watch the flush that's creepin' up the doc's neck and over his cheeks. "Seems to think you've been entertainin' some inappropriate – and downright tweaked notions about you an' me."

A landslide of emotion hits Simon. Embarrassment, shame, loss, sorrow – yes. But also indignation and anger. "That's right, Mal. Make fun of me. It's what you've been doin' every day since I ended up on this le se junker! Thought you were a lot of things, Captain, but I never thought you were prejudiced. Should've realized someone from a backwater planet would be small-minded and petty..."

Suddenly Mal's not finding it quite so funny. Calling Shadow a backwater and using the word 'petty' with all its painful resonance makes him lose his composure. "You don't wanna go down this road with me, boy," he growls.

"I am not a boy! And don't tell me what I want!" Simon hisses. "You don't know what I want! Ow!"

Mal has seized him by the shoulders and is propelling him backwards into the wall. He slides him up, so that their eyes are on the same level and Simon is on tiptoe.

"This what you want?" he demands. "Is it?" He pushes forward so that he is propping the younger man up with his body, hip bone under hip bone and slaps his hands down either side of Simon's face, holding it trapped between his forearms. Simon tries to shrink back, but there's nowhere to go. "Better not be, boy. Not when you're beddin' my mechanic."

Kaylee. Oh God. Where Kaylee is soft and sweet and adoring, Mal is hard and sharp and demanding. _Suo you de dou di shang_ – what was Simon thinking? Kaylee smells of honey, hay and engine oil; Mal smells of salt, smoke and rust. Her skin is soft and downy whereas Mal's is rough with stubble. Kaylee looks at him with kisses in her eyes. When Mal looks at him, he fears he might bite.

As these thoughts rush through Simon's mind, Mal's keen eyes are boring into his. Following every flicker, every shadow. Watching for any little sign that his gut instinct is wrong. A tell-tale hitch in his breathing or a change in muscle tension. Because, if he's wrong, things could get mighty complicated. And Mal's not ready for complicated again yet.. But there's no sign, nothing. He steps back. Simon's face is a study in misery and confusion.

"Think I do know what you want, Doc," Mal says quietly, almost kindly. "You jus' treat her right. Or you'll wish I'd let Jayne space you."

And with that, he's gone, leaving Simon struggling to regain his balance.

Out in the hallway, Mal smiles to himself a little ruefully and snaps his suspenders. Job done. Zoe would be impressed.

* * * * *

When Zoe comes to check on her patient later, he's in self-flagellating overdrive.

"I am so stupid. No, delusional. Delusional is the term. Whatever made me think that he ...? Or that I ...? _Tian xiao de_! I know how he felt about Inara ... And then there's Kaylee ... " He presses his hands to his face in despair.

Zoe half-smiles and sits down next to him, putting a comforting hand on his uninjured thigh. "So you made a fool of yourself. Not many of us ain't. You thought you had feelings for him – well you wou'n't be the first. An' we all got feelings for him. Think we're all jus' a little bit in love with the _tian sa de wangba dan_. Even Jayne. Great leaders inspire them sort of feelin's. In battle, sometimes it takes more than fear or courage to make a man fight. Sometimes it takes love."

"He knew, Zoe. He knew that I wasn't ... how could he be so sure? I mean ... even I wasn't sure...."

Zoe shrugs non-committally. "Been out in the world a lot more'n you." Then she looks him in the eye, considering what to tell him. "You acquainted with the word 'sparkly'."

Simon frowns. "As in something that sparkles? Something shiny?" Is it the drugs or the blood loss that's making this conversation so surreal?

A slow warm smile steals across Zoe's face. Her eyes twinkle. "Yeah," she nods. "Same as shiny. The Cap'n's shiny."

The drugs and the blood loss, Simon decides, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. Because all of this is making a kind of sense that isn't.

* * * * *

Wash is on the bridge, distracting himself from larger issues by concentrating on the journey to Greenleaf. Entering coordinates, checking fuel gauges and engine performance. Mal takes the seat next to him. "How long? Till Greenleaf?" he asks, as though nothing has changed between them.

"Five days, maybe four after that engine upgrade Kaylee did."

What Wash wants to do is broach the subject of his future as Serenity's pilot cautiously, evaluate Mal's reaction and decide how to proceed. What comes out of his mouth is: "You wanna fire me, I'll understand."

"Don't wanna fire you. I'm only gonna say this this one time, so listen up. You're the best gorram pilot I've ever known. Probably the best in the 'verse. Plus ... you make Zoe happy. Whatever else I done for her, God knows I never managed that."

Wash is contrite. "I was jealous of you – you know that?"

"Said you're a good pilot. Never said you was bright." Mal takes a flask from his hip pocket. "Wanna drink?"

"Simon is gonna go crazy if he sees you drinkin' so soon after ..." Wash warns.

Mal snorts softly and takes a swig. "It's medicinal. Anyhow, think the Doc's lost interest in my body. Leastways, hope he has."

There's a layer of meaning in the remark that Wash knows he's not getting, but he lets it go. Because he wants to clear the air between him and Mal, if not once and for all, at least for now.

"All this between you and Simon – it was all my fault."

Mal raises his eyebrows. "Not that I'm not grateful for it not being my fault for a change - but how'd'ya figure that?"

"If I hadn't used the syringe ..." It's still too painful to think about.

"Life ain't about ifs and buts. If you ha'n't used the syringe, if 'Nara ha'n't gone to Monty, if the Alliance ha'n't messed around with River's brain ... It is what it is. We jus' gotta work out how to deal with. Tha's the tricky bit. Sometimes I feel like an itty-bitty chess piece, slapped down in the middle of a game I got no idea how to play. An' then, jus' when I think I've got the rules all figured out – Wham! They change 'em."

Wash looks surprised. "You? You try to play by the rules?"

"Gotta have rules, Wash. Otherwise the Black'll swallow you whole. But now I play by my own rules, not theirs." There's a moment of silence whilst Wash digests this. Then Mal finally gets to the point. "Which rules you playin' by now?"

Wash wishes he had a fancy speech about loyalty, autonomy and priorities. All he's got is: "Zoe's."

Mal chuckles. "Wise man. An' not cowardly neither." He looks away as he grinds the words out. Handin' out compliments ain't never come easy. "Must say, Wash, I admire you for takin' that serum."

"You do?"

"Not sure I'd've wanted to know. Might've left that stone unturned my own self."

"No, you wouldn't. You'd've done it too. Because the not knowing ... the not facing it .... Mal, I think I understand now. Newhall, I mean. And Inara. And I jus' wanna say..."

Mal holds up a hand. "No need."

"So ... we're good? What with my past an' all?"

"Ain't no good livin' in the past, Wash. S'now that matters. That an' the future."

"But the past is what makes us who we are."

"Now you're quoting the Preacher. Myself, I don't hold with that view. S'what we do makes us who we are. The decisions we make every day of our gorram lives. Tha's who we are."

* * * * *

They're a day out from Greenleaf and River is pushing Simon away as he advances on her with yet another syringe full of drugs. "Come on, __. I'll be quick." He smiles at her. "Who knows, it might be the last injection ever if the Captain can find that hospital."

"Stocking's empty," River tries to explain. "And there'll be no holiday."

"Think we might have a situation here, Doctor." Simon looks up to see Zoe clutching the door frame and gritting her teeth.

River takes advantage of this distraction to break free of her brother. She saunters across to the counters, crouches down and opens a cupboard. "Too small," she comments, peering into it. "For dancing."

Simon guides Zoe to the exam table. "River,_mei-mei_, go and tell Wash he's needed in the infirmary right away."

River sighs and rolls her eyes impatiently. She leaves her scrutiny of the cupboard's interior and walks over to the doorway where she punches the comms button and announces loudly into the mic, "Wash, please come to the infirmary. Ma shang. Don't have to leave to speak to him, boob," she points out to her brother. The corner of Zoe's mouth twitches. "Top three per cent, huh?"

"One pilot reporting for infirmary duty," Wash salutes Simon. Zoe gives a little gasp as another contraction twists through her abdomen and Wash's eyes grow wide with alarm. "What is it?"

"Tomorrow," River sighs as if it were obvious.

Wash runs a hand through his hair. "_Wo de ma_! Zoe? This it?"

"Seems like."

"But it isn't due for weeks yet!"

"Wants space," River explains. "For dancing."

"There a problem here?" Mal asks. River must have been broadcasting to the entire ship. Simon shifts uneasily. He'd've preferred a few more days – or indeed a few more lifetimes – before having to face the Captain again. "Doctor? Zoe?"

Zoe is studiously panting, having remembered reading this is a requirement of a woman in labour although she can't think the _diyu_ why. It ain't helpin' none. Mal regards her with a mixture of irritation and suspicion. What is the woman playin' at now?

"Havin' the baby, Sir," she puffs.

Stunned, all Mal can think to say is "_Tamade_!"

* * * * *

Mal is chewing the skin around his thumbnail and staring out in the Black. Zoe has been in labour for twenty-four hours already – Mal blames that big ol' head of Wash's – and her husband has refused to leave her side. Somebody has fly this ruttin' boat. Otherwise Mal would be down in the infirmary too, making encouragin' noises. _Really_, Birthin' don't worry him none. All that mess an' screamin'. Seen far worse in the war. Nope. Don't worry him.

He checks the monitor and realizes they're going to be breaking atmo within the hour. Which puts the flyin' firmly back in Wash's court. He ain't sayin' he cou'n't do it – he'd jus' rather not have to pay for the repairs. Nor deal with Kaylee's wrath at his hurtin' her baby girl.

"Wash, we're comin' up on planetfall. Need you up here on the bridge," he says into the comms.

"_Shi a_, Mal," Wash crackles back. "But will you do me a favour. Can you take over with the brow moppin'?"

Mal swallows. Not worried. Nope. Not one bit.

* * * * *

"Tamade!" Since her demotion to Medical Records (Filing) Clerk at the Blue Sun Corp R&amp;D facility on Greenleaf, Lenna Jeffries (formerly matron at the Blue Sun Special Projects unit on Osiris) has stopped bothering about trying to moderate her language and now swears like a veteran purplebelly. "_Zao cao_! Pi, pi, pi!" The publi-chronograph on the side of the building shows she's already ten minutes late and it takes a good fifteen minutes to walk from her remote parking spot to the clocking-on scanner.

Resigning herself to the loss of an hour's pay, she lights up a cigarette and takes a deep draw. Blue vapour issues from her nostrils accompanied by a slight nasal whine as she breathes out. Funny thing is, the whine keeps going, getting louder and shriller. And it seems to be coming from overhead.

She looks up and at first it's just a dirty speck against a cloudless blue sky. Then it's big enough to be a bird. Of course, no rutting bird flies at that speed. It's an aircraft of some kind. The noise from its engines is deafening.

Lenna's spine tingles and all her instincts tell her to run, but she's rooted to the spot. Even though she has the uncanny certainty that something terrible is about to happen. The aircraft is losing altitude fast and seems set to collide with the Blue Sun building. Lenna can only watch in horror.

But there is no collision. The aircraft suddenly veers off to the left and heads for the horizon. Eyes trained on it, Lenna doesn't notice the bomb. First she knows of it is when the thunder bursts and shockwave knocks her back against her car.

Where the Blue Sun facility stood there is now a pillar of blue smoke and dust, coiling up like dragon's breath into the unnaturally quiet morning. Scraps of paper rise and fall in silent pirouettes.

Lenna drops her cigarette. "Fuck!"

* * * * *

Three hours later Mal and Book pull up in the mule. The bomb-site and surrounding area have been cordoned off and there's a heavy Fed presence. In amongst the debris, the fluorescent tabards of rescue move with painstaking slowness.

Mal remembers that first Christmas when it was jus' him and his Momma. Remembers his childish greed for toys and candy and the taste of ashes when there was nothing under the tree.. Recalls the look of shame and sorrow on Momma's face as she witnessed him lose his faith in magic. Hope is the cruellest emotion. Better to expect nothing and not die these little deaths of disappointment.

He's failed her. There are no presents under the tree. Only coal.

* * * * *

Simon is waiting at the open cargo bay door when they return, his eyes bright with expectation. "Did you find them? Will they help?"

Book shakes his head sadly and lowers his eyes.

"What happened? Mal, what ..?" Simon grabs Mal by the arm, making him wince as his finger close around the still unhealed wound.

Mal's eyes are as deep and empty as the Black. "It's gone. Everything. Not a damn thing left." Simon is bewildered. Doesn't want to believe it. Can't believe it. Mal must be mistaken. They went to the wrong place, the wrong planet ...

"Simon!" Kaylee yells from the entrance to the infirmary. "Come quick! River says the baby's coming!"

* * * * *

Zoe's cheeks are flushed and damp with sweat but she's wearing a smile of pure joy. She's curled around her baby a mare around her foal. The carving Mal gave her all those weeks ago stands on the table beside the bed. Mal's throat tightens.

"It was for the baby ... Hope," explains unnecessarily, rolling the name around in his mouth, getting accustomed to its unfamiliar shape and feel.

Zoe picks it up. It's pale and smooth against her palm. A mare and foal. Past and future. Shadow and light. She smiles. "Very poetical, Sir. An' generous, what with you other gift as well."

"Huh?"

Wash grins, so full of paternal pride he could burst. His joy makes him playful. "You gave us the ship. Remember? When you were planning to take out half of Londinium?"

Mal's expression darkens. "That was for if I never came back..."

Zoe and Wash burst out laughing at his indignation. "Never thought you wouldn't, Sir," Zoe says, and there's such thankfulness in her eyes that Mal has to blink away the stinging in his own. "Would you like to hold her?"

"Me? I don't ..." But Wash has already laid his warm, wriggling daughter in Mal's arms. There's more heft to her than he'd been expecting. She looks up at him with solemn, blue eyes out of a face framed with dark curls - an echo of a fantasy Mal once nourished. There's a smell of flowers and spices, woods and oils and he can almost feel her haughty presence, see the accusation of cowardice in her eyes. He aches to tell her this is what he wanted for them, but the bitter voice in his head tells him it's too late.

"Mal?" Zoe's concerned tone breaks his reverie and Mal hands the child back to her mother. "You okay?"

"Fine," he says briskly. "Now, I got things to be doin' ..."

At the top of the stairway he pauses and looks down. Things ain't so bad. Wash an' Zoe are makin' googly eyes at each other an' cooin' over their baby. Out in the cargo bay Kaylee, Simon, Jayne an' Book have opened a bottle of somethin' to wet the baby's head. Kaylee looks so gorram happy as she leans against the Doc and an' –_ta shi suo you diyu de biao zi de ma_! - Jayne is hangin' on the Preacher's every word and noddin' vigorously. Those two are lookin' to become inseparable.

A cool hand settles over Mal's on the railing. River. Poor little broken girl he couldn't fix.

"I'm sorry we di'n't manage to ...." he begins but she silences him by placing a finger on his lips.

"Can't go back, Mal. Eaten the apple, both of us. Took the red pill. Can't undo what we know. Glue and love will never make us what we were. Only something new."

His eyes go wide with surprise. Because what she jus' said makes perfect sense.

 

* * * * * END * * * * *


End file.
